


Black Days

by hayleyisbored



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4869701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayleyisbored/pseuds/hayleyisbored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.</p><p>Mischief Managed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dark Lord Returned

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my (first ever) fanfic! Let's just break this thing down before we start, if I may?
> 
> As you can see, just at the top of the chapter and below this very note, there's an image of a timeline. If I've done a decent job, hopefully you'll be able to see exactly where my story slots into the events of J.K.Rowling's own plot - colour coded and all. The general idea when I began writing this was that the narrative of my story would correspond with Rowling's, except it's all from Sirius' point of view. It'll all make sense when you read it, trust me.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters and there are the odd quotes taken from J.K.Rowling's story for the sake of continuity.
> 
> P.S. I'll be uploading chapters once a week (maybe sooner if I get impatient) so please stick around :)

There's something different in the air tonight, thick and tangible, oddly familiar yet unnerving. Sirius Black can taste it, smell it, heightened senses taken from his ability to shift into a large black dog, a convenient price to pay for his illegal status as an Animagus. Even Buckbeak, often standing proud and regal despite their temporary residence in a cave outside of Hogsmeade, has taken to curling up in the deepest and darkest corner, eyes staring unblinkingly at the cave entrance, as if awaiting the worst. Sirius has come to have faith in Buckbeak's instincts and he pats at the hippogriff's beak thoughtfully.  


"It's alright, Buckbeak, " he mutters under his breath, following Buckbeak's line of sight. "There's something happening out there, huh? Something bad..."  


Even the weather seems to understand the foreboding presence of an unknown threat, rain-filled storm clouds rolling overhead, the spike of crackling electricity which makes the air feel static like a live wire, charged and dangerous and ready to kill.  


Yes, there's something terrible in the night and Sirius struggles to contain his anxious twitching; his mind turns, as it always does, to his godson.  


Ever since Harry Potter's name was drawn from the Triwizard Cup, Sirius has been on tenterhooks. His swift return to the country, indeed even finding such an undesirable place to live in such as this cave, has all been for the sake of Harry, to be nearer, to offer words of comfort and guidance. He bitterly thinks of the neglected years, of the suffering Harry has endured in the face of his muggle family, and it leaves an acrid taste in his mouth. Living off rats is a measly punishment to receive for his unintentional abandonment of Harry in the most crucial of years.  


Since his escape from the clutches of the Ministry two years ago, he's been trying to right his mistake and hold true to the promise he made to James and Lily all that time ago when he agreed to be Harry's godfather but even his frequent communication with Harry through letters and fireplaces has not been able to quell his guilt of breaking that promise to start with.  


He knows the third and final task of the Triwizard Cup is taking place this very moment and oh, how he wishes that he were there. He can't imagine the trials Harry could be facing, what creatures and spells and hurdles the underage wizard has to overcome. Sirius tugs at his hair, sending pinpricks of pain into his scalp - he should be _there_ , not hiding in a dark hole.  


All he can do is wait and wait and wait.  


Sirius is starting to wonder whether it would be worth heading into the village to scavenge today's edition of the Daily Prophet when a phoenix, plumage of fantastic red and orange and yellow, streaks into the cave and circles above the heads of Sirius and Buckbeak. It's unmistakable as to whom the bird belongs to as a letter and a single feather drop to Sirius' feet. Buckbeak eyes it with immediate indignation, wings bristling at his sides, that not even a soothing pat of Sirius' hand can alleviate.  


He doesn't question how Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, knew of his location - the man just simply always knows - and wastes no time in scooping up the letter and feather just as Fawkes flies back into the gloomy night.  


With unsteady fingers, he tears open the letter and reads it through, heart growing colder with every word.  


Sirius,  
It is urgent that you hasten immediately to Hogwarts. I fear that Lord Voldemort is returned and Harry in imminent danger. Use the private fireplace in the Hog's Head at Hogsmeade. The landlord will be busy in the bar, he need not know you were ever there. Floo directly to my office.

Albus Dumbledore  


Sirius wastes no time. He throws an old chicken leg bone to Buckbeak to keep him occupied before transforming into a dog in the blink of an eye, already scrambling down the rocks to run into Hogsmeade. In his canine mind, his emotions become less complex, more focused and potent. He trips over his own paws several times from nerves but he ignores the burning against his skin and doesn't think for long on that he can deal with any scrapes at a less pressing time.  


The shaggy dog nearly knocks over an elderly witch heading home with arms full of shopping, barely hearing her yells of annoyance as he dives over cracked jars of potion ingredients and streaks away past Zonko's joke shop, past Honeydukes, the Three Broomsticks. It seems an age has passed when he arrives at the outskirts of Hogsmeade, outside the Hog's Head, panting as he pushes his way through the back door with his snout.  


He switches back to his normal self, still breathless from exertion, and hears the low chatter of the customers from the front of the pub. Stealthily, he creeps up to the fireplace, pinching a handful of Floo powder to cast into the flames.  


"Albus Dumbledore's office, Hogwarts!" he says, shooting off into the fire.  


He's glad that the journey is short. Dumbledore is already waiting for him beside the fireplace in his office and offers an arm for him to take as he climbs out. Sirius' mouth is already opening with endless questions and demands but Dumbledore shakes his head to silence him as he is lead deeper into the room.  


"Sirius, it is imperative that you remain here."  


He gains a fleeting impression of trinkets and books, of Fawkes at his perch near Dumbledore's desk, before rounding on the headmaster.  


"But you said - Harry - I need to see him, right away."  


Dumbledore holds up an impatient hand, his face grave, "I am afraid that that is out of the question. I cannot allow you to burst into the room where Harry has been taken, I fear it will cause more harm than good for you to expose yourself at such a delicate time. You must stay here while I go to Harry, Sirius. Do you trust me to look after him in your stead?"  


"I - I, of course I do but...he, he's James and Lily's son - my godson! I need to see him, I have to see if he's okay, he's my responsibility - " Sirius cries hoarsely, looking beyond Dumbledore, as if expecting Harry to be there.  


"And you will, Sirius, but I beg you for just a little more patience. I must go to Harry now, Minerva and Severus are already on their way to him, they will need me. I summoned you because you are the closest Harry has to a parent. I believe he has grown rather fond of you and that your presence will be of great comfort to him. Can you assure me that you will wait here, Sirius?" Dumbledore asks firmly, blue eyes piercing his own. When Sirius makes no immediate reply, he grips his upper arm with surprising strength. "I impress upon you that time is of the essence, must I lock you within this very room?"  


"You'll bring him straight here, to me?" Sirius asks pleadingly, searching the older man's face in desperation.  


"You have my word. Shall I have yours?"  


Numb all over, Sirius nods and gives in to the headmasters wishes, dropping heavily into the closest seat.  


"Thank you, " he says gratefully, turning to the staircase. He pauses for a brief moment, to look back at Sirius' gaunt and pale face. "Harry has been through a tragic ordeal tonight, Sirius. He has not only, as I fear, seen the return of Lord Voldemort but also born witness to the death of a peer. I ask you to be strong, for his sake."  


Tight lipped and wide eyed, Sirius can only nod again, a sharp, curt thing. He feels out of control in his own body, unable to uncurl his fingers from the edges of the chair he is seated on or to hunch his spine from his straight backed, stiff position.  


Dumbledore sweeps from the room, the door swinging shut of its own accord behind him.  


It is surreal being here, in Dumbledore's office. It almost feels like he's dropped into another person's life, picked up their faded memories. He would never be able to tell whether there were any new additions to Dumbledore's collection of intriguing and mystifying objects, he doubts he had seen even half of them during his time at Hogwarts to begin with - which is not to say that he isn't personally acquainted with the room in question.  


He had been summoned on many occasions to this particular room, always with a grinning James beside him, often with a quivering Peter on his other side, and rarely with a repentant Remus standing, full of shame, behind his back.  


He takes to staring at Fawkes as all sorts of horrible thoughts are stirred up, thoughts he'd had to live with for twelve years, brought on by the Dementors outside of his door; showing up at James and Lily's house in Godric's Hollow, seeing it blown apart and the roof caving in, Hagrid flying off on Sirius' own motorbike with a bundle of blankets in his arms.  


He didn't cry - not right away - but started to frantically claw his way through the rubble. He hadn't used his wand, it's funny how it never occurred to him at the time, not even as finger nails ripped and skin tore. He will never forget the sight of the hand with curled fingers protruding from the pile of broken bricks - a hand he knew well, a hand he'd grasped many times in his life. Tears came as he held onto James' body, virtually unmarked, almost as if he could have been sleeping if it were not for the vacant look in his wide eyes. Years of friendship flashed through his brain like an unending reel of muggle film, burning up with the heat of his unbridled rage.  


He remembers releasing James, of being unable to say goodbye, to track down Peter Pettrigrew. Peter, who accused _him_ of betraying their friends. Peter seemingly exploding before his eyes. The flick of a rat's tail disappearing into a sewer as Sirius was left in the wake of destruction, cackling maniacally at the conniving cleverness of Wormtail for framing him, still choking on his laughter even as Aurors led him away to Azkaban.  


He had been so close to his revenge. He would have killed Peter two years ago, if Harry had not asked him to stop. For so long, he had dreamt of avenging James and Lily, of making Peter pay for what he had done to even himself. In just over a decade in prison, he had imagined over a million different ways to make his former friend suffer, knowing that one day he would get his opportunity.  


And yet he let him go. He let him live, all because Harry had asked. There is nothing he would not do for Harry Potter.  


How long he has waited in Dumbledore's office before company arrives, he cannot say. Sirius jumps whe the staircase behind the door lurches into action. He can hear them, climbing the moving stairs, seconds away from entering the office. He leaps to his feet, mouth dry, his entire body trembling at what he might see when that door opens.  


Harry's voice drifts up into the office and through the door to reach Sirius' keen ears, asking about the Diggory boy's parents. Sirius could laugh from the relief of hearing him, of knowing that he sounds shaken but alive. The selflessness of him; that the first thing Sirius hears of him is to ask after the dead boy's parents.  


As the door opens, Harry emerging beside a stern and worried Dumbledore, all sense seems to fly from Sirius' mind as he rushes to greet his godson. He reaches out for him, for the boy with the mop of dark hair and the lightning bolt scar, the spitting image of his dear, wonderful, deceased best friend. With a jolt of his heart, he realises that at least he will not have to see another Potter, his family, buried this day.  


"Harry, are you all right? I knew it - I knew something like this - what happened?"  


And so it starts. The beginning of the second Wizarding War. 


	2. The Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.
> 
> Mischief Managed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say, I know Mad-Eye Moody was in the Hospital Wing up until the end of term at Hogwarts but I really, really wanted to write him in this chapter. Wait...why am I even explaining this? This is fan fiction, I can do what I want! The world is my toy store.
> 
> P.S. I've decided to have an upload schedule of every three days, so watch out for the next chapter on Friday :)

_"The old crowd."_

Dumbledore's words buzz around his head. Sirius feels guilty for leaving Harry but he knows that he understands. Sirius is needed to help Dumbledore to reestablish the Order of the Phoenix. He charges in dog form from Hogwarts, snatching glimpses of the lake, Hagrid's hut, the forest blurring by in a motion of colour and sound. Sirius knows exactly what to do, where to go to first - who to go to first.

He chooses to travel into Hogsmeade to Floo instead of Disapparating, he hates the nauseous kick you get in your stomach from it. Floo powder isn't perfect, not by a stretch, but it's certainly preferrable to retching up his last meal of burnt rat; he'd been constantly imagining that each and every one of the vermin was Peter Pettigrew, although if Peter were close enough, he'd be doing a lot worse than merely eating him. 

Sirius breaks the border into the wizarding village and he knows he can take his pick of any the houses, any of them will have a fireplace connected to the Floo Network. It's a lot easier than what he is used to; carefully watching homes for wizarding families, waiting for them to leave so he can sneak in to use their fire and contact Harry.

He settles for returning to the Hog's Head. Anywhere personally recommended by Dumbledore is surely a safe bet and for once, he is not in the mood to court trouble. The air is still saturated with the threat he felt earlier in the cave but he supposes everywhere will feel like that now, for as long as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named lives.

As he runs to the pub, he spots his cave in the distance, suddenly remembering Buckbeak. He makes a mental note to tell Dumbledore as soon as possible; he's grown rather fond of the hippogriff, his travelling partner these past few years. They've come to have an understanding of one another, Sirius often thinks that Buckbeak is far too intelligent for his own good but they have a mutual trust and respect and it would be treachery to abandon him now, after all they have been through together.

At the edge of the village, he nudges open the back door with his nose and transforms once again into a human, turning back to look at the night sky. He can hear the landlord's snoring and he relaxes, grateful for the easiness of his task, happy that he will not have to resort to the use of his wand.

Before grabbing a handful of the Floo powder from the mantelpiece, his peripheral catches sight of the portrait hung above the fire. The young girl in the painting waves shyly at him and he spares a small smile for her, throwing the powder into the flames so that they glow green, staining the room in a shade of chartreuse. He's careful to stoop his head when he steps into the fire, for fear of banging it off the mantelpiece, and resists the desire to choke on the ash that fills his mouth no sooner has he done it.

"Remus John Lupin's - fellow Marauder, occasional werewolf!" 

Sirius shuts his eyes to ward off the disconcerting spin of Floo travel, feeling a pleasant heat fan across his cheeks as he flies past fireplace after fireplace. When he starts to slow, he braces himself, flinging his arms out at the last minute, knowing that it will be an inelegant arrival.

He emerges, coughing and spluttering, on his knees and covered head to toe in soot and ash, on the wooden floor of one Remus Lupin. Almost instantly, a man rushes forward from the shadows of the room, his frail figure wrapped up in a thin, flannel dressing gown. 

Sirius feels hands on his shoulders, sweeping at his back, dusting the fireplace grime from his hair and face.

"Sirius? Is that you? Why are you - what's going on?"

"Remus - Remus, he's back."

The depth of inflection and fear within Sirius' voice is enough for him to ask no questions, to leave him without a shadow of a doubt to whom he is referring. Remus' fingers suddenly clutch at the shirt on Sirius' back, nails pinching skin, before releasing their grip as quickly as they had latched on. He stumbles away from his friend, still braced on hands and knees on his floor, and collapses into the only armchair within the room.

A shaky hand covers his face as he gathers his thoughts, giving himself a moment to appreciate the weight of the news before reverting back to his role as the steady one, the voice of reason and propriety. It will be what Sirius will need, there will be plenty of time afterwards to respond appropriately to the information in his own company.

"I expect Dumbledore has sent you." he finally musters, managing to sound remarkably undaunted by Sirius' announcement. 

Sirius nods, his eyes on the floor. He hasn't moved an inch.

"He used Harry, Remus. He used Harry to come back. I should have been nearby, I knew something bad was going to happen. I should have been there to help him and - "

"And you would have got yourself thrown into Azkaban again. Do not beat yourself up, Sirius, it is done. We must focus on what to do now. I imagine Dumbledore has given you instructions?"

"Yes. To alert the others - the old crowd, he said."

"Well, let me just get changed. We can Disapparate at the same time."

Sirius is quiet for a moment,"...what?"

"You don't expect me to travel by the Floo Network, do you? Not in my condition!" Remus teases. Despite meeting again on such a grave occasion, he is genuinely overjoyed to see his friend after parting during the most trying of times. Weeks after, Remus had deliberated frantically over sending Sirius a letter of apology but these things are better said when spoken aloud.

His joke misses its target and falls flat, leaving Remus pink from chagrin, fiddling with the tie on his dressing gown so that he can focus on that instead of the man opposite him. Sirius finally rises to his feet, slightly unsteady but as graceful as he can be. He cocks his head at Remus and looks at him through squinted eyes, taking in the shadows beneath his lashes and the unmistakable bleariness of one who has just awoke.

"You want to come with me? It's getting late, you should probably rest. I can do this by myself."

There's an awkwardness between the pair. Their last meeting was ended abruptly; the full moon had interrupted their previous reunion and Remus had lost all sense of himself. Sirius had been captured, then escaped, all before the morning had broken and Remus returned to a more coherent state of mind, leaving them with no chance for parting words. Remus hopes he did not hurt Sirius badly when he was in his wolf state, or that his years of living under the misapprehension of Sirius being guilty has not affected him too deeply.

They had spoken briefly of their mistakes in the Shrieking Shack before Harry, Ron and Hermione, and although they have certainly forgiven each other of their falsehoods, it cannot be resolved and undone so swiftly, not even by the magic of a time-turner.

Remus fixes Sirius with a stern look, "If anyone needs rest, it's you, Sirius. Forgive me but you look terrible. You surely don't think that I would let you do this alone, do you?"

"Well, I - I - no."

"Exactly. Besides, " he adds, with the ghost of a smile. "You forget that Alastor Moody is part of that 'old crowd'. Call me masochistic, but I for one would love to see his face when Sirius Black, mass murderer and escaped prisoner, shows up on his doorstep."

"Merlin's Beard, Remus, he's spent a good part of the year locked away in a trunk! They apprehended the culprit just this night, Moody's probably on his way to St Mungos as we speak. Last I knew, he was in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts."

Remus' face lights up with surprise but he recovers before it shows too much. He has not been in regular contact with Sirius since they last met; Sirius has kept his communication with others relatively low to avoid attention - except for Harry, of course. Still, it stings Remus to know he is out of the loop, especially when everything that has happened has concerned James and Lily's only child. 

It calls to mind the way his friends had distanced themselves from him during Voldemort's reign, of the lonely nights holed up in his small flat - courtesy of James, an ostentatious gift - and wondering whether any of them would make it through the year. He hadn't seen the Potter's for months and Peter had all but vanished, even Sirius' visits had become less frequent, evermore brief and cold. There had been no more late night conversations with him, no more whispered confessions of being afraid in his moon-drenched bedroom, lying side by side on the collapsed mattress and pretending they were still at school, everything softer and manageable in the darkness.

Sirius had stopped coming altogether in the end, only weeks away from James and Lily's deaths. Remus hadn't learnt the reason why until seeing him again in the Shrieking Shack.

They must learn from their blunders of the past and have faith in one another, as they used to, before the first war began and they were pointing fingers of suspicion at each other. Perhaps Peter has ruined more than they even thought.

"Again, your memory does not serve you well, my friend. When has Alastor ever trusted anything outside of his own judgement? I guarantee he is at home, mixing up some ghastly quick fix potion," Remus says, hesitating on his way to the foot of the stairs. "Although, maybe we should leave Alastor for last and give him some hours to get over the worst? He'll probably jinx us out of the street if we show up in the middle of the night. Till then, we can go to the others, and you can tell me exactly what has been happening at Hogwarts."

Sirius appears nonchalant as he crams his hands into his pockets to wait, but beneath his indifferent front he is glad to have Remus joining him, for him to throw himself so wholeheartedly into the job at hand - he is glad that, despite everything, he never really had to ask.

***

Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging is bathed in a cool darkness, chillier than what the time of year may suggest. Remus shivers slightly in his woolen cardigan, having grossly underestimated the temperature as he dressed, while a shaggy black dog beside him shakes out its fur and bounds forward a few steps, glancing back with a lolling, pink tongue, tail wagging energetically.

"I know I'm usually the one to exercise caution but I believe you are quite safe for the present, Sirius. It's currently - " Remus breaks off, leaning in to check the watch at his wrist. " - coming up to midnight and I doubt the muggles with be pressing their faces to their windows to see Sirius Black outside. Arabella keeps cats and I don't think she'll be too pleased to have a dog, although as impressive as yourself, in their company."

The dog tilts its head at Remus but Sirius does not need to be told twice. He savours every opportunity he can get to walk about the streets as his human self, for that always rare excuse to feel like a free man again.

"Right, better? Excellent. Arabella's is this one, I believe." Remus says, stopping at the end of the driveway.

The house in unremarkable, much like the others within Little Whinging, Surrey. They are all built to look identical, all homing unwitting muggle families who have no concept of Lord Voldemort, or even precisely what a Voldemort _is_. That is, all except one. The residents are ignorant to the fact that a squib - that is to say, someone born into a wizarding family but without magical abilities - is living alongside them.

They cannot know that Arabella Figg, the person in question, has provided her services to the Order of the Phoenix since the first wizarding war, and is held in the highest regard by one of the most renowned wizards of their time, Albus Dumbledore, as well as being thought of as an esteemed member of the Order. It is for this purpose which we find Remus and Sirius stood at her very doorstep, ringing the bell in trepidation.

"I would ready yourself..." Remus says pointedly, inclining his head to the house just as the hallway light flashes on. "I rather think she hasn't changed since we last saw her."

When Mrs Figg opens the door, brandishing an umbrella in one hand, grey hair half tucked into a hairnet and feet clad in tartan slippers, she expects teenagers to be pranking her. She is ready to see an empty doorstep and hear the boozy guffaws of the delinquents echoing from down the road - she's had many of these attempts over the years, targeted because of her eccentricity, something she has gotten used to because she is here on Dumbledore's orders, to keep an eye on the Potter boy. She will give as good as she gets because she will not be sidetracked by muggle miscreants, not when she is entrusted a job of the utmost importance.

What she does not expect to see are the two wizards stood before her.

"This is hardly the time for house calls! Remus, is it? Remus Lupin? And...Merlin's Beard, Sirius Black!" she cries with wide eyes, umbrella clattering to the floor, making to shut the door in their faces. 

Sirius shoves a foot against the frame before she manages it, palm flat against the door, a broad grin on his face, "Now don't be like that, Figg, I'm here on business."

Arabella Figg's face turns thunderous and instead pulls the door open wider, pointing a trembling finger to Sirius, his expression bemused as she yells, "Mr Tibbles! Tufty! Snowy! Mr Paws!" 

Streaks of fur, shades of orange and grey and white, pounce on him, small pinpricks of pain embedding themselves into his skin. He flails, his arms propelling hopelessly to keep himself upright, before he topples onto the ground, feeling bristles of cat hair sweep across his arms and tails whipping into his face. With watering eyes, Sirius appeals for Remus' help.

"Remus! Get these _things_ off me, Remus!"

"Oh dear, " Remus says, barely containing his amusement as Sirius rolls about before the porch, hands scrabbling to gain purchase on at least one of the cats scratching at his body. Taking pity on him, he turns to Mrs Figg reluctantly, "Please, Arabella, we're here because of Dumbledore. If you could call off your cats, we'll be more than happy to explain. I promise that Sirius is not about to murder you."

She narrows her eyes, "Dumbledore, you say?"

"I swear on my life. Just let us come in and we'll go over everything."

She appraises them; Sirius writhing around on the floor and covered in her cats, and Remus in his fraying cardigan, pale and composed in the moonlight. She peers up at it, the moon, noting that it is not quite full, and snaps her chin down in a sharp nod. Dumbledore keeps unusual company, herself included, and yet his instincts are often correct. If she cannot rely on Remus Lupin's word at least, she shall certainly rely on Dumbledore's.

"Well, alright then, but if I catch a whiff of anything fishy from him then I'm setting the cats on you again - both of you. Now come in, you're letting the heat out." she snaps, whistling through her teeth; the cats jump off of Sirius almost as soon as they hear it, trailing behind Mrs Figg as she reenters the house.

Remus holds out a hand to Sirius, who takes it after throwing a savage look at the retreating back of Mrs Figg. 

"She's completely barmy."

"She's also a valuable asset to the Order." Remus reminds him, leading the way into the hallway.

"Could have fooled me..." Sirius mutters under his breath.

Inside, they politely ignore the distinct cabbage odour that seems to be permeating throughout the entire house, and obey her commands to take off their shoes before setting foot into the front room. After declining a rather waspish offer of tea, they perch themselves on the floral patterned settee, trying not to squash the cats resting there, Sirius albeit gingerly. He prods at Snowy with the manner of one approaching something quite detestable, until taking a swipe of indignant claws from the creature in question and holding up his hands in offended defeat.

"Now what's this about? If it's anything to do with that lousy oaf Mundungus Fletcher, then I want no part of it. He tried to sell me powdered unicorn horn just last week - now I know that it was just crushed up black market Erumpent horn, I'm surprised it didn't explode in his pocket. What am I going to do with unicorn horn anyway? I'm a squib, it's not like I can knock up a potion!"  


Remus and Sirius share a glance, before Sirius sits back, accidentally knocking off a crocheted arm-rest cover. Remus takes this as an indication for him to talk.

"Er, no, actually. No, it's not about Mundungus - speaking of which, we should probably visit him next," he adds in a low voice, turning to Sirius. Remus raises his voice again. "Actually, Dumbledore sent us, specifically Sirius. You see, something happened tonight. It might come as a shock so I think you should prepare yourself for this, Arabella, because - "

"Voldemort is back."

Mrs Figg starts at the name. Remus glares reproachfully at Sirius, who shrugs out a half-hearted apology. 

"You were taking too long." he tells Remus.

The crabbiness falls away from Arabella Figg, leaving her small and shrunken, appearing for all the world as the frail old women she pretends to be for the Dursley's and her muggle neighbours. Her hand seeks out her closest cat and she pulls him, Mr Tibbles, onto her lap, stroking him between the ears as she gnaws on her bottom lip.

"Back? Are you certain?"

"Absolutely. Harry Potter - my godson - he saw him come back. Dumbledore is reinstating the Order, he specifically asked for you. I'm here to tell you to keep on your guard and be aware for any signs from Dumbledore, he'll probably be in touch with you shortly himself."

Mrs Figg tugs nervously at her hairnet, heedless of its crooked angle. "Oh dear, oh dear. You say Dumbledore asked for me personally?"

Sirius nods, recoiling at Mr Paws rubbing himself across his side. He makes a face and Remus bites back the urge to scold him, concrentrating on Mrs Figg. She seems to be lifted by the knowledge that Dumbledore has asked for her to be included.

"We're sorry to have disturbed you so late, Arabella, especially with this news. Should we let ourselves out?"

"Yes - yes, alright," she murmurs, watching Sirius fumble with the crocheted cover as he tries to slide it back onto the arm rest. Her voice suddenly finds its bite again. "And if you see that Mundungus Fletcher around, you tell him from me to keep his thieving hands away from Little Whinging!"

After assuring her that they will pass on the message, they slink into the hallway to don their shoes, Sirius cautiously edging around Tufty, before finding themselves in the weakly lit streets again. Clouds blanket the sky and somewhere a few miles off, thunder grumbles.

"Well, all things considered, I think that went quite well, don't you?" Remus asks, drawing his cardigan tight around his shoulders.

Sirius scowls darkly, pulling out his wand to heal the cuts on his arms, "Easy for you to say. You weren't mauled half to death by her hybrid kneazle-cats."

"Yes, well, I suppose Dumbledore could have sent an owl to let the necessary people know that you're not going to burst into their homes and kill them on sight but he has a lot to be going on with. It's best that he focuses his attention on Harry."

"Yeah, Harry should be the most - wait," he says, staring off down the road. "This is where his muggle family live, isn't it?"

Remus is already answering, not realising his error. "Yes, yes I think it is but what's -"

Sirius Black is already storming away, heading directly for Privet Drive. He knows the address, knows it off by heart from writing his letters to Harry, and by the time Remus has caught up, clutching a stitch in his side, Sirius has his wand in hand and is a foot away from the door.

"Sirius!" Remus hisses, pulling him back by the shoulder. "You can't just crash in there and threaten them with your wand, you'll scare them to death! You'll wake the neighbourhood!"

"Good! Those muggles have been little better than Death Eaters to Harry! I say we turn the tables on them and - "

"You never think of the ramifications, do you? You'll be making things ten times harder for Harry when he comes back here. Think of all he's seen, what he's been through. These people aren't going to care about any of it -"

"All the more reason to hex them." Sirius says stubbornly.

"No, it's not. Sirius, if you go in there and - and - oh, I don't know, turn them all into hamsters, they'll be foul to Harry! They'll be worse than they already are. He won't need that, not now, not after this year."

Sirius tips back his head and drags fingers through knotty hair, releasing a small groan of annoyance and admittance. Remus is right, as always, and he can't let himself be responsible for these muggles making Harry's life harder than it already is. He gazes up at the curtain-drawn windows of 4 Privet Drive.

"If only Harry were in there..." Sirius says wistfully. 

"I daresay you'll see him again soon enough." Remus points out gently. "Let's- let's head back to Arabella's and we can Disapparate from there. We still need to find Mundungus."

At these words, Sirius snaps out of his stupour and laughs, eye twinkling with humour. "Oh, don't worry about that. If I know Dung, he'll be in a pub. I can narrow it down to about three possibilities. Well, come on then, I need to get this muggle house out of my sight before I rethink doing something drastic."

Remus hangs back and messes with the unravelled edge of his sleeve, "I'll be there in a minute, I just need to, er, retie my shoelace."

Sirius looks at him quizzically but nonetheless begins to return to Wisteria Walk. Remus waits a minute before glancing around the deserted street, watching Sirius' sloping figure heading back to Arabella Figg's house.

When he is quite sure that Sirius has disappeared from view, he kneels on the evenly clipped grass alongside the hydrangea bush beneath the window of the Dursley's. Without ceremony, he pulls a wand from his pocket and mutters an inaudible spell; almost instantly, the flowerbeds begin to shrivel and wilt and the grass dries to an unpleasant shade of yellow. Only feeling a little guilty, Remus admires his handiwork before tiptoing away from Privet Drive.

If only Sirius could have been there to hear Petunia Dursley's screams of mirth when she discovers her precious garden the next day, inexplicably dead overnight.

***

The air cracks as two men Apparate into Diagon Alley, though none nearby would hear it from the thunder that still growls overhead. The cobbled lane patters with the sound of rainfall and the men rush past the closed shops, arms over their heads and feet kicking up puddles.

This is the third pub that they are trying. They have already been to the Three Broomsticks, arriving only just before it closed for the night, and they even ventured to the Hog's Head although Sirius knows for a fact that Mundungus is barred from there. Remus has been going in alone as Sirius waits outside as a dog, but he despises loud, crowded rooms and he shies away from putting himself forward. When he stepped into the Hog's Head, a goblin had eyed him from its seat in a corner booth, even as Remus scanned the pub as quickly as he could, shaking off the prickly feeling of hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He was watched until he hurried out of the door again.

Together, they approach the Leaky Cauldron and Remus is earnest that this shall be their last attempt.

"Look, if he's not in there, then I really think we should head home. We'll go to Moody's in the morning and then maybe we can give Mundungus another shot but I'm telling you now that I refuse to enter another pub tonight!"

"Come on, Moony, where's your sense of adventure?" 

"I think I lost it somewhere after the Three Broomsticks, when that old witch tried to buy me a pint of mulled mead. I told her I was in rather a rush and she all but threw the glass at my head." he says stiffly as Sirius cracks up.

The sign to the tavern creaks above their heads, swinging in the wind as the storm picks up. The Leaky Cauldron, although late in hour, is still a jumble of laughing and shouts and singing, and Remus is completely miserable at the thought of going in there. He sighs heavily, casting a quick charm to siphon heat from the tip of his wand, and dries his clothes beneath the roof of the porch so that he looks less like he's been lurking in the rain all night.

Sirius shifts into the black dog and gives Remus' hand a friendly nip of encouragement, nudging him by the nose to force him closer to the entrance.

"Yes, yes, I'm going. You just - sit." 

He does exactly that, as still as a statue, illuminated only in a patch of lamp light that shines from the windows of the Leaky Cauldron as he waits for Remus. When it feels as if an age has passed since Remus entered the pub, Sirius starts to fret over his extended absence. He's already formulated several plans of action to rescue his friend when the din grows louder as the door groans open, and Remus is once again by his side. 

"Well, " Remus announces grimly, blinking the rain from out his eyes. "He's in there alright, and he's drunk on firewhiskey. He was telling an extraordinarily tasteless joke to anyone that would listen. Crude even for his standards, I might add."

"What was the joke about?" Sirius presses, raising his eyebrows expectantly, handsome face all angles and shadows, overridden with exhilaration. 

Whenever Sirius is like this - when he's giddy - Remus is deeply abashed at his ability to forget Sirius' indisputable struggles. The fact of the matter is, Sirius hardly lets on that he's suffering at all. He makes light of most events, particularly those pertaining to his own life, and it's easy to contentedly laugh away the time spent with him because he makes it so - Remus forgets even his own troubles when Sirius is near. There's a selfishness in Remus that rejoices at having such a friend, the sort who buoys you up rather than drags you down.

"If you must know, it was about a mermaid and a grindylow but I'm not going into it." Remus says drily, stifling a yawn.

"Oh! I know that one! A mermaid wanders into some reeds, right, and the grindylow - "

"No, I've heard it once already, thank you very much. I needn't hear it again. You better step into the covers - yes, like that, people are coming out. I think it's last orders, finally."

A gaggle of witches and wizards step out into the rain, tutting at the turn in weather. A few nod their heads to Remus, standing out in the open before them, although most sneak glances at him from the corner of their eyes, curious and mistrustful that he should be skulking out here and not inside, where drinks were to be had and merriment was in abundance. The news of Voldemort's return has not yet reached the ears of the public.

Remus scans the group as they head their separate ways but none of them are Mundungus. 

"He's still in there. Do you reckon we should pick this up again in the morning when Mundungus is, er, a little more aware of his surroundings."

"No, let's just wait a little longer. If Dung is too intoxicated, he'll sleep in this very gutter, I promise you."

"Can't be long now," Remus guesses, looking at his watch again. "Tom must be struggling to kick Mundungus out."

"Ah well, Dung can be very persuasive when he wants to be."

Just as Sirius is speaking the words, a grubby man with scraggly hair staggers from the pub, shouting profanities at the top of his lungs. Tom, the bartender at the Leaky Cauldron, is framed in the light from inside and flaps his arms in exasperation. With a sweep of his wand, the door slams shut between him and Mundungus, the locks magically sliding and clunking into place. Mundungus is too concerned with being thrown out of the pub to spot Remus just a few steps away.

Remus coughs.

"'Ere, it's Ra-Rum-Romeo!"

"Close. Remus, actually. It's been a while, Mundungus."

"Yeah, yeah! That's right! You're that werewolf bloke, ain't you? 'Ow you doin', mate?" Mundungus slurs, wringing Remus' hand with vigour. "I haven' seen you since, blimey...it's bin years."

Sirius is obscured by the shadows, watching the exchange with fascinated enjoyment. Although he would never admit to it, he knows that Remus has a dislike for Mundungus.

Since their introduction during the first war when they both joined up to be in the Order, Mundungus greeted Remus by howling at him in a poor imitation of what he must have thought a wolf sounded like. On Remus' part, after that ordeal, there has never been a strong desire to know him better; he used to cringe inwardly at being partnered with him on missions for the Order, which happened more times than he'd have liked - he was sure it was Dumbledore's idea of a joke, perhaps hoping for them to bond. Remus never grumbled about it but he was more than happy to see the back of Mundungus after a night's shift.

Remus pulls his hand free from the other man's grip, flexing his fingers to bring some feeling back to them. His gaze flickers to Sirius in warning, then back to Mundungus again.

"Oh, I'm perfectly alright, thank you. There _]is_ actually someone else here I'd like you to meet, though. If you would kindly step out..."

Sirius, all too willing, makes a show of his reveal, dramatically leaping out from his hiding place to make his presence known. Mundungus reacts splendidly, precisely how Sirius had thought he would, and crashes into the bins outside of the pub, raising up a stir. A stray cat darts away down the street, leaving Sirius cackling with laughter and Mundungus flabbergasted in a heap, expired frogspawn and potion residue in his lap. A hole starts to singe away at his trousers and he taps it mindlessly with his wand, only to produce a thick haze of smoke.

"Bleedin' hell, Sirius! I thought you was on the run!" he chokes, spluttering at his smoking trousers. "Them dementors not caught up with you yet?"

Sirius produces his own wand and clears up the damage to Mundungus' trousers with a lazy flick. "It warms my heart, Dung, to know you care. I need a word with you though, mate."

Mundungus squints up at them with bloodshot eyes, looking between Sirius and Remus. A noise bleats from his mouth, half hiccough and half burp, the sound so revolting that Remus wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"You two aren't goin' to kill me, are you? See, I got a fing tomorrow, got a man to meet about a promising lookin' broomstick - don't s'pose either of you are interested? Knock off price for you, if you are."

"'fraid not, Dung, " Sirius says breezily, crouching down to the same eye level as him. "Thing is, Voldemort is back - "

Mundungus flinches violently, frogspawn squelching onto his hand but Sirius pushes on.

" - and Dumbledore is starting up the Order again. He's going to be in contact with you, so keep your eyes peeled."

He shakes his head slowly but firmly, as if trying to clear the fog of alcohol from his brain, patting his pockets with fidgety fingers. He removes a pipe and raises it to his lips to clamp between his teeth but then looks up at the sky and seems to suddenly notice the rain.

"Fancy that, it's rainin'. Probably a bad sign." he says, scratching at his red hair. "Definitely a a bad sign."

Sirius glances up at the clouds too. "Yes, well, we've already been to see Arabella Figg. She says you're to stay away from Little Whinging, by the way."

The man's face perks up at the mention of a familiar name.

"You seen ol' Figgy? Di'n' say nothing about tha' unicorn horn, did she? Only, I'm tryin' to shift it. Ten Galleons, if you fancy it? Or I 'ave this 'ere Sneakoscope, I can do it for you for- "

"Sorry, mate, we're not looking to buy. Have you listened to anything I've said, Dung? About Dumbledore and the Order, that he'll be in touch?"

Mundungus, it transpires, has fallen asleep, nestled between the bins and litter, pipe dangling loosely from his lips.

"You know, I'm not sure he'll remember this in the morning, he'll probably think we were an unsavoury dream." Sirius ponders, standing up and brushing a glob of frog spawn from his shirt. "Let me just cast something, to keep him dry."

He looks down at Mundungus with something close to affection. "He had some brilliant stories when we got paired up on those missions the first time around. There was one where he got mixed up with a vampire in Devon. He had Dung cornered, and Dung being an idiot tried to cast Lumos in a panic, to try and scare him off. Trouble is, he said 'Lumios' instead and had his wand pointed backwards - his skin was glowing orange for weeks afterwards."

"I believe I can remember that one, " Remus says, shaking dripping hair from his eyes. "Do you think we should move him?"

"Nah, he can look after himself. Either way, once Dumbledore is involved then Dung can't say no, he'd do anything for him. I think we're done here."

"Home?" Remus asks pleadingly as they take off down Diagon Alley.

Sirius takes in his friend; soaked through to the skin, his cardigan hanging heavy off his slender frame and the sleeves down past his knuckles, Remus looks as if he's taken a swim in the lake at Hogwarts. Sirius admits to himself that the idea of a nice, warm fire and the prospect of dry clothes sounds more than appealing and he's happy to oblige Remus.

"Home." he agrees, although the word tastes strange on his tongue.

He's not so sure he has anywhere he _can_ call home these days.

***

Sirius and Remus are standing outside a semi detached house. They've remained like this for the past ten minutes, staring in apprehension at the inoffensive home. It's exterior represents perfect ordinariness but it's not the house itself that they are worried over. It's the man inside.

"I think you should go and knock on the door." Sirius finally says.

Remus stammers, "What?! Why should I do it?"

"Because you're more likable than I am, " Sirius says sagely, turning to him. "And you haven't been convicted of murdering a whole street full of people."

"I'm a werewolf, Sirius. I think we're pretty evenly matched in the stakes for most hated. Besides, you didn't do it!"

"Well, he doesn't know that, does he!"

Remus rolls his eyes and tugs at the sleeve of his dusty jacket, stalling. He knows that he cannot evade Sirius' demands for long, he's never had the strength to refuse him, not even at Hogwarts. Then again, he can't imagine anyone refusing Sirius of anything - he could ask you to strip down and run through Gringott's, and you would do it because he has the uncanny knack of persuasion. If he'd had the chance, Remus would have pestered Sirius to go into politics, he would have made a formidable Minister for Magic.

"Don't you think Dumbledore already spoke to him of this?" Remus challenges, warily glancing at the windows of the house. "If he was in the hospital wing, then - "

"I thought Dumbledore would have had enough to be going on with, Remus. Moody probably broke out and got himself home before Dumbledore had the chance."

Sighing heavily, Remus gives in. Throwing Sirius a look of utter contempt, he draws himself up to full height and marches steadfastly to the front gate, reaching over to unbolt it. No sooner has his fingers brushed against the lock, a magical gust sweeps by him - through him - and he's hanging in the air, dangling upside down by his feet, from nothing the human eye can perceive.

He flounders, hands moving fervently to grab anything escaping his pockets. He's too slow to catch his wand and it bounces off the pavement, sending green sparks shooting out from the tip.

"It's a good look for you, Moony!" Sirius howls, clutching at his side in hilarity. "You'd make a charming bat."

"I'm glad you're having fun, really, but would it be too much of a bother for you to help me down?"

Sirius approaches, still grinning, reaching up to grasp Remus' extended hand. He gives him a gentle pull but Remus only moves a fraction, bobbing for a split second.

"Huh." Sirius frowns, shaking hair from his face and taking hold of Remus' arm with both hands. He yanks down hard, using his weight as leverage.

"OUCH! Would you be careful! Keep in mind that I AM attached to the arm you're trying to pull off."

Sirius aims a bashful smile at his friend, "Sorry, it's just this is a strong charm. I'm impressed." 

Overhead and lost in his jacket, Remus groans. 

"Perfect! Why on earth would anyone place a spell like this on a garden gate? Think of his muggle neighbours! This has to be breaking at least ten different wizarding laws."

"Doesn't affect muggles." growls a voice from behind them. "Only works on wizards, see?"

They both turn to look in the direction of where the voice has come from - Remus flapping about above - and find Alastor Moody observing them, leaning heavily on a crutch. Dressed down in a stained nightshirt, his scarred face is unreadable, a blank hole where his magical eye should be. He watches them with his one good eye, gnarled and imposing even in his sleepwear. 

"Who're you? What are you doing here? Thought you'd have the common decency to let me rest after what I've been through this year."

"Dumbledore sent us!" Remus cries through a mouthful of jacket. "We didn't know if he'd told you."

"Told me what? Spit it out, boy, I'm not inclined to stay out here much longer."

"About the Order, " Sirius speaks up, stepping around Remus and coming into full view. "Dumbledore is bringing back the Order. I trust you know the reason why, you were an integral part of the plot."

Moody turns his attention on Sirius, realisation dawning across his contorted face.

"Black!" he snarls, wand out in the beat of a heart.

Sirius barely has time to say, "Oh, for - " before being knocked onto his back by a blast. Crumpled in a heap, he hears the clunk of Moody's wooden leg moving closer, then the bellow of an incantation.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Sirius entire body seizes up and he's left immobile on the ground, only able to listen to Remus' protestations to Moody.

"Wait, stop! Alastor, Sirius isn't what you think he is! Contact Dumbledore, he'll tell you the truth! Sirius is innocent."

"Why should I believe that? The way I see it, now that the Dark Lord is back, he'll send his most loyal followers to get me! He knows I'm weak!"

In his head, Sirius thinks that if this is Moody in a weakened state, he'd rather not see him in his prime.

"Just - just let me down. I'll show you Sirius isn't a supporter of You-Know-Who!" Remus begs, his movement causing a few forgotten peppermints to slip from his pockets and through his fingers, clattering off the floor. "If we were going to attack you, do you really think we would be using the front gate!"

"Right, " Moody mumbles, shuffling closer to Remus' hanging body. "I'll let you down but I will jinx you if you - "

"Try anything funny. Yes, I understand."

Moody points his wand at Remus who, to his credit, only looks slightly anxious by being at the ex-Auror's mercy. Moody waves his wand, left to right, over Remus, who is quite powerless when the soles of his shoes feel like they're beginning to peel away from something invisible. He hasn't even a minute to think when he realises what is happening, dropping like a stone onto the pavement below, thudding an elbow off a cracked muggle garden gnome.

"Sorry, lad, should have warned you."

Remus stands, wincing, "No, it's alright, no harm done. At least not to me." 

Moody limps over to inspect the gnome Remus has pointed out, affronted as he grimaces at the offending garden accessory.

"Damn muggles, they keep tipping their rubbish onto my lawn. The Ministry made me lift all those charms I'd placed around my house, to stop the bins attacking everyone." he says, picking it up and throwing it over the garden wall. "Those gnomes are probably spying on me. Bugged, see?"

"Yes, er - the matter at hand then? Look - may I, Sirius? " Remus says, kneeling down to roll up the sleeves of Sirius, who widens his eyes to grant him permission. "No Dark Mark. Don't you think he'd have one, if he really were one of Voldemort's men? He brands them all, Moody, you know this."

"Yeah, well..." Moody says, moving a step closer. "Got something I'd like to try out for myself. You better stay still, boy, or I can't promise what I'll do."

Moody lifts the full body bind spell, then without warning, raps his wand sharply at Sirius' face, tip smacking him on the bridge of his nose. Sirius' face fills red, a line working from his chin up to his hairline, before draining back to his regular complexion again in a matter of seconds.

"ARGH! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!" 

"A little spell, to check for any concealment charms." Moody grimaces, displeased at the lack of effect his spell has had. "Looks like you're clear..." 

"What, not going to try anything else? Veritaserum?" Sirius snaps, roughly scrubbing at his nose. "Or maybe you're feeling rebellious today, perhaps the Cruciatus Curse will help."

Moody narrows his eyes, "Haven't got any Veritaserum, otherwise I'd have used it already. I don't mess around with the Unforgivable Curses, boy! "

Remus' looks between the two wizards in panic, arms nervously jumping at his sides, ready to throw himself between them if necessary. He looks over his shoulder, to the street, worried over the ever-present threat of muggles nearby.

Sirius seems to be thinking along the same lines, "So are we done with your little experiments? Or do you want us all to be arrested for exposing ourselves to muggles?"

"It's not too late for me to change my mind about you!" Moody roars, brandishing his wand.

"Right, well, about the Order - " Remus says, purposely stepping in front of Sirius, blocking him from Moody's view.

"Oh, that. Yeah, Dumbledore already mentioned it to me. Looks like you wasted a trip." Moody grumbles, clunking back off into his house.

Sirius watches Moody until the end of his nightshirt whips behind the door, then turns to Remus, his voice strained with the forced effort of trying to keep it level. His hands shake as he gets to his feet, nabbing Remus' abandoned wand from a patch of weeds to hand back to its owner.

"Moony?"

"...yes?"

"We need to leave now. I'm perilously close to being an idiot."

"Okay. Let's find an alley to Disapparate from, it's getting on in the day." Remus suggests, leading the way from Alastor Moody's. 

Sirius is white faced, jumpy, as they march past hedgerows and parked cars. He hadn't known what to expect when Dumbledore had sent him from Hogwarts on his task but as he thinks over it, he never quite anticipated such animosity from people he had fought alongside, fought _against_ Voldemort with. These people were his family, along with James and Lily, and for them to have decided so candidly that he had betrayed them all, to be associated with the very man who has brought all this destruction into their lives, does not sit so comfortably with him.

He voices these concerns to Remus, who responds with mindful words that do not vanquish his disquietude altogether, but at least pacifies it.

"This was never going to be simple. They've had fourteen years worth of the Daily Prophet heralding you as Voldemort's number one, they'll all need convincing. I expect they'll still have their doubts until Dumbledore backs us up. It won't be long now, they'll see the truth soon."

"You know, " Sirius begins, tiredly rubbing at a headache in his temple. "Being Voldemort's favourite little Death Eater isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Together, Remus and Sirius work their way through visiting as many original Order members as they can, their reactions to seeing Sirius growing increasingly severe; Emmeline Vance actually fainted at the sight of Sirius' face, who was still angry from his encounter with Moody, and when she came to, had to be consoled by Remus for the entire duration of their time with her, and Dedalus Diggle kept dropping his hat and gawping open mouthed even long after they had left his company. 

"I'm beginning to think that Dumbledore hasn't thought this through." Sirius says, nettled, after being knocked onto his rear for the sixth time that day. "It's as if Voldemort himself has shown up on their doorsteps!"

When they finally arrive back at Remus', fatigued and in mild pain from all the defensive spells they've had used on them - Sirius had to hand it to Sturgis Podmore, who cast a most inspiring Impediment jinx, which stopped him from moving for almost a whole minute - they ignore their grumbling stomachs in favour of the promise of a much deserved rest.


	3. Lupin's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.
> 
> Mischief Managed.

A week has passed since Sirius appeared in Remus' front room, ash on his clothes and bearing the word of Voldemort's return. The first days of living together are awkward. Their behavioural patterns are so different that it is tricky to grow accustomed to one another's routines; the old habits that they'd let slip from their memories during their time apart, the new ones that they have acquired from the experiences of their respective lives.

It's impossible for Sirius to fall asleep. In Azkaban, the screams of the other prisoners punctuated the air from dusk until dawn, bad thoughts stirred up by the Dementors driving them to insanity. Sirius preferred to be a dog as often as he could, instincts developing more into those of an animal, helping him deal with the constant presence of the guards outside his cell. He rarely spoke. He hardly ate. He had wasted away to nothing more than bones. Sleep was unreachable.

On the run, he never relaxed, it never let up, and as a result Sirius had taken to trying to sleep in the day. It was only a little better but he found he could drift off easier when he was surrounded by brightness, when it was as far from the memories of the darkness of Azkaban as possible.

Here though, in Remus' rural home, it is too quiet. It was something Sirius had longed for in the wizarding prison, to be able to rest without shrieks and noise around him but now that he has it, it is unnerving. He is suspicious of it, the peacefulness, because surely there is something out there sneaking up on him, lulling him into a false state of security.

The first night, he had lapsed only briefly into a hard-won sleep before jerking back into consciousness, a sound not dissimilar to breathing air after nearly drowning rasping from his mouth. Remus had flown down the stairs, a hastily pulled on shirt hanging open against his chest, eyes bulging and wand in hand, to find Sirius dripping with sweat and trembling as if left in the cold.

"SIRIUS - Sirius, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Remus had demanded, half shaking his friend in earnestness, wiping the perspiration from Sirius' eyes with the tail-end of his shirt.

Sirius had pressed his hands into his face, the world swimming around him, voice breaking as he tried to put words into a coherent sentence. "Nightmare. A nightmare about the night. Would you say that's irony, Moony? I'd call it unoriginal if anything - now, it'd be ironic if I were having nightmares about the day."

"What? You - what?! Are you joking about this? YOU SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH!"

The whole affair had been tremendously embarrassing for Sirius but Remus had insisted on staying with him for the duration of the night, producing an unopened bottle of firewhiskey found in the kitchen cupboard to pass between one another until their nerves had dissipated and the room grew grey as morning approached.

The ability to only fall asleep in the daytime is an inconvenience, particularly considering Remus' own custom. Sirius had forgotten that Remus likes to wake up at the crack of dawn, to watch the sun rise above the Yorkshire countryside and chase away the impugning thoughts of the night. He had jolted awake in the arm chair one morning with forty minutes sleep, the moth eaten blanket slipping from his lap, to find Remus nursing a cup of tea at the window, hair still mussed from slumber, the tips illuminated in the weak light of the sun. He had turned to Sirius with a warm smile, invigorated by the new day, offering a mug of tea and a bundle of fresh clothes he had sorted out from his own wardrobe. 

Despite Sirius' protests, Remus had been firm, "How long have you been wearing that shirt, Sirius? Those trousers? It looks as if you haven't changed clothes in about a year."

It wasn't that Sirius was ungrateful to Remus for putting him up for the unforeseeable future, it was just Sirius didn't want to take any more from him than he had to. The fact of the matter is, Remus' cottage is a crumbling, semi-derelict building, held together by his own ingenuitive spellcasting. Sirius had to contain his surprise at his initial impression of it - the cottage is only a slight improvement upon Sirius' own living prospects in the cave - and had kept quiet to spare Remus' feelings. He could see Remus was embarrassed by the state of his living and had made fast work of trying to put him at ease.

"It's not perfect - " Remus mumbled, staring determinedly at the ceiling mere inches above his head.

"It's fine, really."

"Oh, there's no need to lie. We both know that this is a ramshackle."

"I didn't know it was so bad for you. Forgive me, Moony. I didn't realise, when James died - you had no one to help you. I should have done something." Sirius had stressed, helpless that he couldn't do more for him.

"Yes, well, Dolores Umbridge's anti-werewolf legislation act has made it damnable for me to find employment. It's not your burden, Sirius. You have enough of your own."

They had fallen into an uneasy silence then, Remus hurrying into the kitchen to prepare some scrambled eggs as Sirius lingered in the front room, his head ducked at an agonising angle to avoid bumping his head off the superfluous lampshade, something Sirius still cannot see the point of when Remus uses gas lamps and candles.

"It's decorative." Remus insisted as Sirius shook his head.

Five rooms make up the cottage: a tiny kitchen, crammed with brass pots and pans, the ceiling so low that Sirius has to stoop when he's in there, often having to wedge himself between the stove and the sink if Remus happens to be in there too. There's the front room, containing only the beaten up armchair and a new spindly chair complete with squashy cushion which Remus had magicked up - "I've never had a reason for more furniture, I'm usually here alone." - as well as a scrubby wooden table that holds Remus' treasured gramophone and records, which he plays every night before bed. 

The foot of the carpeted stairs start right in the living room beside the fireplace, leading up to a dingy bathroom, cracked tiles and mildew, hot water coming on sporadically so that they have to heat up a bath with their wands. Sirius only got a quick glimpse into the bedroom, only just bigger than the bathroom, the edges of the bed resting against both sides of the room, no space available for anything else besides the wardrobe crammed into the corner - "I considered making it larger, an Undetectable Extension Charm, but the building wouldn't be able to take it. All I can do is cast spells to strengthen the foundations and the walls." - and then there's the cellar, a room which Sirius is only just discovering. 

"I - I need to show you something." Remus says one day, beckoning Sirius to follow him. "You probably know...my cycle, it's coming up."

They don't wander too far, just a few small steps across the kitchen to a door which Sirius had presumed led to a room that was in disrepair and unfit for use.

"...I have this room, the cellar - not like that!" Remus sighs, catching sight of Sirius' eyebrows shooting up. "It's not some kind of torture chamber. It's for when - for when the full moon comes about. Ideally, I'd prefer to have Wolfsbane potion but you know how terrible I am with that sort of thing, so I have to lock myself in until morning."

Remus rests a palm lightly against the door, eyes downcast.

"I've reinforced it with magic, it's the most stable room in the house. It's probably more difficult to break out of than Azkaban - " his voice dies, shooting a fearful look at Sirius, who is at pains to keep his expression clear.

"Er, yes, well - what I'm trying to say is, you don't have to worry about me getting out and hurting you." Remus finishes lamely, moving away from the door and back to the front room to sag into his armchair.

Sirius' hesitates by the door and peers in through the crack. There aren't many stairs leading down into the cellar, few enough for Sirius to see right into the room; inside, it is bare, empty of any furniture. The walls are criss-crossed with claw marks, every inch of the wallpaper is ragged and torn, the marks of an animal desperate to escape its prison. The bottom step has a chunk missing from it, all splintered and chewed up.

Sirius silently wonders how Remus has possibly managed this by himself, all these years. How does he cope with his transformations, completely alone, without the help of James, or himself, or Peter, without his friends to guide him and keep him company? The last scrap of his humanity and consciousness that he could retain whilst with them at school is now surely lost until the sun rises.

It has never been easy for Remus. He is filled with a deep shame when he returns once again into his human state, naked and cold and uncertain of what the night has brought, distraught over every scratch and scar that marks his skin; this is something which Sirius absolutely knows but doesn't understand. He doesn't see a creature to be frightened of, something to be hunted down and sneered at. He sees his friend, Remus John Lupin, a man with a kind heart, a man who could be so many great things if only he were allowed to pursue them.

Even when they were boys at Hogwarts, Remus would recoil from his own reflection in mirrors and windows, and would take to using any excuse not to go into the bathrooms with them, keen to keep his aversion to seeing himself hidden. He was constantly petrified, thinking that if he finally acknowledged his condition to himself, then it would be plainly written on his face for the world to see - that they would judge him, shun him. Remus has always felt like a pariah in society, even when the people around him were ignorant to the secret he was harbouring.

There was progress made, Remus had eventually learnt to laugh, even joke about being a werewolf, helped along by the other Marauder's openness. It has all been undone though, those few short years were not enough to cure his hatred for the other side of himself.

Sirius comes over to where Remus is slumped in the chair and kneels on the floor before him, "Remus, my friend, I have never been afraid that you'll hurt me."

Remus' face screws up and his eyes look wild, misplaced in his usually collected demeanour.

"Don't think like that. As long as I'm alive, I'm capable of hurting anyone."

There's the rub. Remus will never accept himself, and as a rule finds it hard to believe that anyone else is able to. At school, every day he had expected James or Sirius or Peter to come up to him and demand for him to be removed from the dormitory, from Gryffindor, from the school. He couldn't deny that his friends were good people - Peter was, after all, still innocent and eager to please James at this point - but he found himself preparing for it from the moment he woke up, anxiously analysing their laughs and expressions, waiting for the moment where they would give themselves away and declare their disgust at knowing such a boy.

He would never have blamed them if they had.

"That day James died - " Remus starts quite unexpectedly, his voice soft. Sirius stiffens, his head perking up, like that of a dog. "You know I was away on a mission for the Order? I got the news by - by Dumbledore's Patronus. He told me James and Lily had been betrayed and - and I thought it was you. I thought YOU were their Secret Keeper. You hadn't told me that you'd swapped with Peter because you didn't trust me, you suspected me - I've made my peace with that, Sirius." he adds gently when Sirius flinches.

"I should have trusted you - "

"No, you were right to be on your guard. None of us would have guessed it was Peter. I'd made plans, all kinds of foolhardy plans that you would have delighted over if it were some other person - some other situation, to travel back and confront you. Then I heard that Peter had beaten me to it, that you'd blown him to bits in a street full of muggles. It was ridiculous, really, that my first thought of you upon hearing that was - was, _how idiotic._ How _extraordinarily_ idiotic and clumsy of you. The idea alone that you were found laughing your head off amidst broken bits of bodies, sewage water flooding the streets - it was so very you and yet...and yet nothing like you at all."

"You can imagine how distressed I was - not only had I lost James, but also you and Peter. I began to wonder what would have happened if I WERE there - would I too have joined my comrades in death? Would I have managed to talk sense into you, appealed to that seventeen year old boy who I knew was still in there, albeit deep down? It had happened so fast, my three best friends all gone from me within hours and there had been nothing I could do about it. I was supposed to be the one who kept you all out of trouble and I had failed, on such a grand scale that I didn't even know where to begin to understand how it went wrong. I was inconsolable, Mundungus didn't know what to do with me."

Sirius attempts to speak but his mouth is dry. He swallows hard and tries again, "Mundungus?"

Remus nods bleakly, "Yes. He was my partner on the mission. The downfall of Voldemort meant the Order was no longer needed, it disbanded shortly after you were sent to Azkaban. We tied up a few loose ends, helped round up what Death Eaters we could and that was it. I had no purpose, no life to go to, no job that I could hold onto because my coworkers grew suspicious that I would vanish every month..."

"Remus, " Sirius whispers, reaching up to rest a tentative hand on Remus' arm.

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad, Sirius. My point is, I thought I'd lost everything that day. I wouldn't go to my family to be their burden, at twenty-one I was as isolated as I could ever be, I got used to it." Remus explains matter-of-factly, staring out the window to watch the setting sun. "Then, two years ago, I saw Peter's name on the Marauder's Map - you know the map never lies, we designed it that way - and I found out that you were not as gone as I thought you were. I got you back. You never handed James and Lily to their doomed fate and you were once again the Sirius I thought I knew - ostensibly reckless, throwing yourself into things headfirst with abandonment even with a price on your head. But we _were_ changed, I didn't know if we could - could get back to the way we were. I've always been bracing myself for the day where you don't want to know me anymore. Since that night, since Peter escaped - well, it hasn't been easy to hear nothing from you."

"Moony." Sirius says firmly. "I want you to know this: I will never abandon you again."

"I can't believe that. I'm a danger, you shouldn't want to be near me."

Sirius jumps to his feet, towering over Remus' hunched figure in the chair, suddenly very exasperated with the whole thing.

"Enough. I'm telling you, I'm not going anywhere. In fact, I have something to ask you. I wasn't going to mention it until after the full moon but, well - come live with me, Remus."

Remus blinks, confused at the turn in conversation. "...live with you?"

"I know, how very forward of me - I should have asked for your hand in marriage first."

"You know what I meant. Live with you, where?"

Sirius grins and pulls out a thick, yellowing envelope from his pocket. He waves it about in a flourish before handing it to Remus, who curiously scans through the letter it contains. The sloping, elegant writing is definitely familiar...

"Dumbledore replied just this morning. I offered my services - more specifically, my rotten ancestral home, for the use of the Order. Dumbledore is going to be Secret Keeper and I'm to head there in a few week's time, to prepare. I want you to come with me."

Remus fidgets, messing with a mark on the arm rest, rubbing his thumb over it. He doesn't look up when he speaks, "Are you quite sure you want that?"

Sirius groans, "Ugh, absolutely. You'll probably be sent out on stuff for the Order all the time but when you're not, you can stay with me. You don't have to be alone anymore, Remus. Besides...I want you to come live with me."

When he doesn't respond, Sirius smacks Remus on the side of his head, harder than he intends. 

"Ow! Why did you do that?!" Remus cries, eyes watering, glaring up at his friend.

"For being a complete dolt. So will you? Live with me, that is?"

Remus stares at Sirius, noting the stubborn jut of his chin, his perceptibly narrowed eyes watching him, daring him to accept - wanting him to, then back to the letter in his own scarred hands. Sirius will never give this up and Remus knows it.

He sighs, actually quite thankful for Sirius' bullheadedness.

"Fine. As long as you promise never to do that again."

***

"You're always so antsy close to the full moon."

Sirius is spread-eagled on the floor, flicking the bottom of Remus' boot with a finger while he tries to read the newspaper. Remus has endured it for as long as he can before dropping the Daily Prophet onto the floor, turning his uncharacteristic rage onto Sirius. He's lost interest in the news anyway; there are too many snide remarks on Harry Potter, too many hints that suggest the return of Voldemort is a figment of imagination. He hasn't shown Sirius the article yet but he knows he can't hide it for long.

"It's my cycle, isn't it." Remus says testily, yanking his foot away from Sirius' hand. "Maybe if you stopped doing that, I wouldn't be so crabby!"

Sirius grins lazily at Remus, "You're always crabby - okay, that's a lie, sorry Moony." he surrenders, dodging a biscuit that Remus has thrown at him.

"Honestly. How old are you, Sirius?"

"Alas, I'm thirty-five."

"Then why do you insist on behaving like a child?"

"Because my prime years were taken from me. I'm making up for it. You could say neither of us had an especially great start to adulthood."

Remus has nothing to say to that. Abruptly, he moves to his feet and crosses the room, peering out from behind the netting to check the progress of the day, dreading the moon that night. The sky is lit up the way it only does in summer, splashes of orange and red and pink as the sun sets.

Sirius watches him from the floor, propped up on an elbow.

"Let me help you, the way I used to. I'll go canine, keep you safe."

Temptation flits across Remus' scarred face but he chases it away before it can fully manifest.

"I don't think so, Sirius."

"I've done it a million times before."

"And you're sorely out of practice! You don't know how you'll cope with me now. Besides, you can't do it alone, not without James. The stupidity would be paramount, even for you. Just do this one thing for me. Please."

They look fixedly at each other, the clock in the kitchen ticking an ominous countdown, reminding them that they're on a curbed schedule. Sirius can't abide knowing that he will have to pass the night away as Remus suffers and he has made up his mind that he's going with him despite his orders, but the glean in Remus' eyes tells him that he's treading a precarious line, that if he disobeys him then whatever they've rebuilt between them could all be for nothing.

Sirius drops his head back onto the floor and squeezes his eyes shut for a second. "All right. Whatever."

"Thank you." Remus mutters appreciatively, pulling his jumper over his head. He folds it up and places it on the table. "Don't want to ruin it..."

As the world outside the window grows darker and the shadows creep into the room, Remus becomes increasingly jittery, unable to stay in one place for long. He paces through the house, checking and rechecking inconsequential things; the milk in the fridge, the worn out soles of his shoes, his dwindling supply of teabags.

When the time comes, he's as pale as parchment. Sirius walks with him to the door to the cellar, the only show of support he can provide for now, and drifts beside the stove. Remus is breathing like he's freezing to death.

He closes a hand around the doorknob, knuckles white. "Whatever happens, don't come down there. Just wait for the spell on the door to run its course."

When Sirius maintains a determined silence, Remus grabs his shoulders, gripping hard enough to bruise.

"Sirius!"

"Fine!" he concedes, although in his head he is making no promises.

Remus calms again, "Right. I'll - I'll see you in the morning then."

When the door swings shut behind him, it glows blue, the magic sealing it until the next day. Sirius strains his ears to hear the light footsteps of Remus as he walks down the stairs, then the almost inaudible scuffling as he awaits the moon. Unwillingly, Sirius leaves the kitchen, choosing to settle in the armchair for the hours ahead.

He stays up all night, listening. He hates himself when Remus' yells of agony signal the start of his transformation, at the unrelenting cries and pleading for help as Remus' bones snap and morph, the garble as his mind disintegrates into something simpler, more singularly focused. He almost approaches the door when the clawing starts, when he hears the inquisitive snuffling at the gap in the door frame. The howling that lasts throughout most of the night, interjected only by guttural snarls of white hot fury and thuds as he tries to break out. 

And then comes the whining. As soft as a dog whimpering, the desolate sound of an animal yearning for freedom. Mournful keening, drawn out and melancholic so that it makes Sirius' eyes burn and chest ache.

He has never felt so worthless.

He tries everything to distract himself from the noises; reading the Daily Prophet and scanning it for Harry's name, making a conscious effort to tidy up the front room as best he can for when Remus changes back, testing out the few cleaning spells he knows on the mould in the bathroom, even listening to Remus' records but nothing can divert his attention away from the door to the cellar.

When morning comes and the first rays of sun burst through the grime-streaked window, he dashes to the door, grabbing a few items he thinks will be handy for Remus and presses an ear against the wood. He can hear nothing. Ignoring Remus' instructions to wait for the spell to fade away, he taps his wand against the door knob and the door springs open, granting him entrance.  


Perhaps it is feckless, he should be more cautious but Sirius has seen Remus transform more times than he can remember, he's ready to turn into the dog in an instant, at any sign of aggression. All he wants is to be with Remus, to make up for every single full moon he has missed.

He waits on the top step, listening. It's the crying he hears first. 

Treading carefully on the stairs and skipping over the final, mangled step, he edges towards Remus. He's curled up in a ball in the corner, new scratches inscribed onto the skin of his back, red and angry and dribbling blood. When there are no humans to attack, werewolves turn on themselves.

"Remus?"

Sirius steps closer, close enough to hear the harsh breathing of Remus, the persistent sniffling of a man trying to gain control of his own emotions. He unfolds the blanket in his arms and drapes it over his friend's trembling body, startled when Remus jumps at the slide of material on his shoulders.

"Remus?" he murmurs again, laying splayed fingers on Remus' lower back, taking care to avoid the wounds. "Remus, you need to heal these cuts."

When Remus replies after a long minute, his voice is high and faltering, "I-I will. Just give me a - a minute. What time is it?"

"Sun has just risen."

"You sh-should go, I'm still n-not myself."

"Don't be an idiot." Sirius rebukes but his heart isn't in it.

He waits. He waits for Remus to fully come back to himself, resting on the balls of his feet, his fingers spread on Remus' back. He waits for the shuddering to stop, for the hushed sobbing to subside, until they're still and huddled in the corner of the room, for when Remus delicately pushes himself up onto his knees, holding the blanket tighter around him. Sirius' toes and legs are numb but he doesn't care a bit.

Crouched beside him, Sirius offers a bar of Honeydukes chocolate, a little melted from the heat of his hand but still perfectly edible. He speaks low, encouragingly, "Here. It'll help."

Remus' red-rimmed eyes stare at the chocolate held out for him.

"I mean, you don't - I just thought you might like it, after..." Sirius babbles, beginning to withdraw the confectionery.

Slowly, Remus raises his hand and reaches out for the chocolate, pinching it between his bloodied thumb and forefinger. He slides it from Sirius' grasp and cradles it in his palms, looking down at it in wonderment.

"This is exactly what I need. Thank you, Sirius." he whispers, touched that he had thought of it, tracing the corners of the bar. 

"Yeah, well, you were always shoving the stuff at me in school. See? I did learn a thing or two from you." Sirius says, managing a smile, pleased that he has impressed Remus. "Come on, I'll help you up the stairs. Eat that now." he instructs, pointing at the chocolate. 

Remus painfully lifts his arm onto Sirius' shoulders, wincing at the ache in his joints, the newly reformed human bones. Sirius is attentive, holding him as gently as he can, winding an arm around his waist to carry the most weight.

"Merlin's Beard, Moony, would you just lean on me."

Remus is tired, his brain foggy from a night of being something other, at his most susceptible to spouting out the first thing that comes to mind. "I'm all embarrassed. When I asked you to - to stay the night, I never anticipated that you'd...stick around to see me in the morning. You seemed like the love and leave type."

Sirius' laugh bounces off the walls and shakes the inside of Remus' skull. "Why, Moony! Was that a joke?"

"I think so," he realises, slightly stunned, nose wrinkling. "Don't get used to it."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Together, they make their steady ascent up the stairs, the bottom step proving more trouble than they allowed. It takes a full five minutes for Sirius to hoist the weak Remus over its mauled threshold but he's patient, thoughtful, mindful to not rush him.

"Did you get any sleep? I should have thought of soundproofing the room." Remus pants when they finally get past the step, his hangdog expression making Sirius' stomach twist. He breaks off a square from the last piece of chocolate and hands it to him.

"Yep, " Sirius lies swiftly, cramming the morsel into his mouth, praying Remus is too exhausted to note the bags under his eyes. "Like a Flobberworm. I got a full three hours, its a new record." 

Remus is oblivious, "That's - that's good then. Really...good."

When they reach the top of the stairs, Sirius is painfully aware that he's all but carrying his friend - he suggests a break but Remus waves him off. 

"Nonsense. Just a few more steps and we're there."

They scuttle through the kitchen, knocking the stack of brass pans from the kitchen counter - "Let me just get that - " "For heaven's sake, Sirius, leave it." - and there's a sticky moment where they nearly crumple into a heap upon entering the living room. It's a relief when Sirius at last guides Remus to his chair.

Remus blows out a huff of air when he collapses into it, his face turning white at the rub of the blanket on his injuries. When his eyes pop and he's all puzzlement, Sirius hovers over him in a panic.

"Are you all right?"

Remus gazes at Sirius while he scratches at the smudge of stubble on his jaw, picking off flakes of dried blood. He's working through the mental image in his head, trying to make sense of it. His tone is so awestruck that Sirius has to laugh.

"Sirius...you _cleaned_?"

The next hours are dedicated to Sirius helping Remus seal up the fresh wounds, coating them in powdered silver and dittany. They are both used to the routine, working together silently, Sirius applying the mixture to the places that Remus cannot reach. When he brushes a glob of it onto the cut along Remus' back, Sirius hears a sharp gasp and feels the wiry muscles beneath his hand wind tight.

"Did I hurt you?!"

"No," Remus breathes, head stooped. "Actually, it's good - well, no, not good. Better. It's better."

Sirius relaxes and pats more powdered silver and dittany onto Remus' skin, "I don't know how you've done this alone for so long, Moony."

"I'm not so sure myself. Sirius - thank you. For not charging in last night and, and for this."

"What are friends who happen to be falsely convicted killers for, if not to help their werewolf chums?"

Remus chuckles and he's glad of it, that they can look back at their lives and find humour within, "What a pair we make."

It's a lengthy operation, imperative to stop Remus bleeding to death, and when they finish the two men droop with weariness. Sirius has a smear of silver on his forehead and blood under his finger nails but he doesn't seem to care. He yawns, stretching his arms out to his sides, eyelids heavy.

"You know, I think I might just...lie down...here...a little..."

"Mmm." Remus murmurs in incoherent agreement, still swathed up in the blanket.

For the first time since before he was sent to Azkaban, Sirius falls into a dreamless sleep, not a sound to be heard besides the tranquil snoring of Remus in his chair, both bathed in the golden sunlight that they have come to depend on.


	4. HQ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.
> 
> Mischief Managed.

In a murky street in Islington, London, two wizards stand cloaked, shrouded in the night. They pause at a peculiar spot, where a house number is ostensibly missing. Together, they step into the orange glow of a streetlight but no one is awake to see them.  
The shorter of the men, whose face blurs between the lines of handsome and haunted, fumbles around in a pocket, biting something that shines a beam of unnatural light between his teeth as he conducts his search. 

His accomplice waits with composure, checking over his shoulder occassionally at the sound of an engine sputtering several streets away, the clatter as a fox knocks over a bin. Beside him sits a large trunk, battered and decades old, and strangely enough, a grammophone perched atop of it.

Finally, his friend has success; a scrunched up piece of paper in his enclosed hand.

Sirius thrusts it at Remus, "Here. Read it and memorise it."

Without question, Remus takes the paper, the words written by Dumbledore himself, and scans the sentence. He passes it back to Sirius, who promptly burns it with the rap of his wand.

"Okay, repeat it back to yourself."

As Remus thinks over the words on the parchment, the neighbouring muggle houses begin to shift and rumble, splitting apart to give room to the house that is materialising between them.

Remus stares up at 12 Grimmauld Place as the movement grinds to a halt, wedged between 11 and 13. It's a miserable looking building, dirty like smudged charcoal, the windows of each of the three stories caked in grime, dark and foreboding - someone could be watching them through those windows and they would never know it.

"Charming, isn't it? My father made it Unplottable...probably for the best." Sirius mutters when he catches Remus gaping, before traipsing up the steps to the front door. "Hold on - "

He pulls out his wand again and taps the tip of it against the door, the sounds of locks clanking out of place coming from within, the rattle of a chain undoing on its own. Sirius rolls his eyes at the doorknocker, a silvery serpent twisting upon itself, and shoulders open the door, revealing a musty hallway before them.

"If you tried that without the presence of a Black, you'd be walking away from here with 'INTRUDER' stamped across your forehead - an ingenious little spell on my father's part. I've spoken to Dumbledore about it though, he said he'll fix it." Sirius says, taking Remus' trunk and propping it against the wall beside the troll-leg umbrella stand. "Hideous." he grimaces at it, turning back to his friend.

"This is certainly a, uh, unique home." Remus offers, little else coming forth that he can say, the taste of decay settling on his tongue and the smell lingering in his nostrils.

"It's a wreck. Full of dark artefacts and the remnants of prejudiced morons." Sirius states bluntly, kicking the door shut behind them. "I suppose I should welcome you, though I can assure you that this is the least welcoming home you'll ever have the displeasure of stepping foot into."

Sirius has already reacquainted himself with the house; he'd brushed off Remus' offer to accompany him during his first time entering his family home in nineteen years and had stolen away in the night to avoid any further suggestions from him. Needless to say, Remus wasn't pleased when he'd returned the following morning, wrapped up in a borrowed coat with an unrepentant gleam in his eyes. He appreciated Remus's thoughtfulness at being there for him but Sirius shared his reason with a different outlook; he hadn't been sure of his reaction, he didn't want to show how hard it was. It was never his intention for Remus to see him slip - it never is.

They're plunged into pitch black but with a brisk wave of the wand, Sirius ignites the gas lamps along the walls, lighting up the grand but decidedly cobweb-ridden staircase that ascends as high as the unseen ceiling, and the gloomy corridor they're standing in. From here, they can see the lines and lines of shrunken house-elf heads mounted on the walls, who stare down at them with round eyes and twisted mouths.

"I'll give you the grand tour, " Sirius laughs harshly, starting off on a speedy walk. "I don't rejoice in being back here. I'm on strict orders from Dumbledore to stay put. This was about the only useful thing I could do; my parents would have hated me for putting the house to this use, which only added to the appeal of handing it over." he explains with a grim smile. 

They hurry down the hallway corridor, treading on worn down carpet, passing dozens of sleeping portraits, all hanging at a crooked angle. He pauses reluctantly at a pair of dusty velvet curtains and looks over to Remus with bleak resolution.

Sighing, he wraps his fingers around the crease in the curtain. "I should probably show you this now, so that there are no nasty surprises if you find yourself wandering the corridors for the bathroom, and you happen to wake her up. Get ready."

Before Remus can ask precisely who 'she' is and why it would be unpleasant for him if he were to wake her up, Sirius yanks back the curtain and hollers at the top of his voice.

"OI! GET UP, YOU OLD HAG!"

"YOU! WRETCHED SON, RETURNED TO BRING SHAME ON US ALL!"

Remus is appalled; before him is the most ghastly portrait he has ever seen. The subject, an old woman, her black cap perched on bedraggled hair, is screaming. Her eyes are rolling in her head, spit flying from her mouth, bony fingers clutching at the yellowing skin on her wasted face.

"ABOMINATION! BEFOULING THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK WITH YOUR TREACHEROUS WAYS!"

Sirius has to shout to make himself heard, "This is my dear mum. She's delightful, isn't she?"

Around them, the other portraits are stirring up in retaliation, raising a commotion so that every single one of them has joined the racket.

"Remus, if you could just stun the other portraits? It'll shut them up." Sirius asks, reaching for the curtains on his mother's portrait. "I'll sort her out."

The woman turns her eyes on Remus and flails in despair.

"HALF BREEDS! FILTH!" she cries, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

"You better be quiet if you know what's good for you!" Sirius orders, at length covering his wailing mother with effort, perspiration glistening on his forehead. Remus aims a stunning spell at the final shrieking portrait and the house descends into a pressing silence once again.

"Sorry about that. That'll be the first thing to go, when we start the clean up. It gave me a right shock when I visited last week, let me tell you. I pity the poor artist who had to stare at my mother's mug for any length of time." 

"Clean up?" Remus says, still dazed over the portrait.

"Yes, didn't I mention? The Weasley's are coming to stay. I believe Molly volunteered her family to help in the restoration of this place. They'll have their work cut out for them."

Sirius turns out to be a negligent host, passing rooms by with an indifferent shrug of the shoulder - "It looks exactly like the last one. Nothing worth seeing, Moony." - and only briefly taking a turn about the rooms they do enter, which includes a parlour where he'd once trapped his brother inside one of the vast cabinets for trying to jinx him, and a storage room that was more or less used to punish Sirius whenever he had displeased his parents - "They put me in here for a whole day before and as you can see, there are no windows. I came out with a fear of the dark, which lasted for the next three years. Remember when I always drew my curtains shut around my bed in the dormitory at school? I was hiding the fact that I had to light a lamp every night."

He's particularly cantankerous when they find themselves in the drawing room, standing in front of an elaborate tapestry which details Sirius' extensive family history. Remus doesn't have the chance to examine it for long but he does manage to locate Sirius' own spot, now just a charred blotch amidst the Black's, and realises that it's best to avoid commenting on it for the sake of impeding Sirius' ever increasing bad mood.

When their tour takes them to the kitchen, a narrow room with a spacious ceiling, iron pots hanging hazardously above their heads, they can hear the unmistakable noises of a disturbance coming from the adjoining door which Sirius claims leads to the cupboard where the boiler is.

"What was that?" Remus asks, alarmed, casting about the gloom.

Sirius' expression darkens further, "Kreacher."

"You mean- "

The cupboard door opens, the hinges in need of a good oil, and Kreacher himself skulks out, curling fingers around the edge of the door to peer at the trespassers. Needless to say, he is quite startled to find the traitorous son of his beloved - but very much deceased - mistress standing in the middle of the kitchen.

"What's this? Master has returned? Kreacher thought he'd seen the last of the ungrateful brat when he left. Kreacher wonders why he has come back."

Sirius laughs without humour. "Oh, didn't we all. Unfortunately, I'm to tell you that you serve me now, not that horrendous portrait of my mother in the hallway - "

"Master insults my poor mistress, how ashamed she was, the disappointment she felt for her good-for-nothing son." the house elf says to itself, clutching at it's hairy ears, the dirt-encrusted rag tied around its small body slipping. "How upset mistress was when he ran off with blood traitors and half breeds."

" - and you HAVE to obey me. That's an order, Kreacher."

The elf bows low, its fleshy nose pressed against the stone floor of the kitchen, bloodshot eyes narrowed at Sirius and Remus.

"Of course Master, an honour it is to serve him, " Kreacher mutters, still bending at the waist. "Although Master deserves to be locked back up in Azkaban instead of shaming the halls of this house. How my mistress would fret at his brazen return! How mistress would fear that he would sully her prized possessions with his slimy hands."

"You don't have to worry about that Kreacher, I'll be throwing the lot out as soon as I can." Sirius barks, turning from the elf. "Now go back to where you crawled from."

"Very well, Master, as you wish." Kreacher says, hunchbacked as he retreats to his cupboard. "Master thinks he will succeed in getting rid of my mistress' heirlooms but Kreacher will save them, Kreacher will save as many as he can."

"Good luck with that!" Sirius bellows, storming from the kitchen in a rage.

Remus has to run to keep up, jogging up the stairs and back into the hallway to see Sirius furiously marching to the next floor. They barely look around the second floor - Sirius is still quietly seething over his reunion with Kreacher - but it's enough for Remus to know that there are a couple of bedrooms, all bearing their own four poster bed and emblazoned with the Black family crest, and a bathroom which features a chandelier created entirely from dragon bone.

By the time they reach the third floor, Sirius is positively sullen. He slinks along the landing, tapping the lamps as he goes but they're too dim to add much improvement to this floor. There are only three rooms here, each labelled with a plaque, the occupants names engraved upon them. They all hold their own stories, hateful reminders of his austere mother and father, his grovelling brother Regulus. He was never like them, he refused to give in to their obsession with being pure blood, which made him the greatest failure in their eyes, and he can recall with acute hostility the less than favourable letter he received from his parents on his being sorted into Gryffindor.

Sirius stops abruptly at the first room, the master bedroom. He hardly opens the door, just wide enough for him to see the king size bed and the ostentatious purple drapes that cover every inch of the room, clearly ransacked by Kreacher over the years, eager to find items to bring him closer to his mistress.

"Dumbledore is getting Buckbeak dropped off in a few days, at my insistence." Sirius says conversationally, peering in. "You know, I think I'll let him have my parents room, I'm sure he'll find it comfortable enough."

He abandons the room and they move to the next one across the landing, formerly belonging to a _'Regulus Arcturus Black.'_ Sirius won't go in so he lets Remus wander in alone, the door a little stiff. He never went into his brother's room even when he was still living at Grimmauld Place. They were polar opposites; Sirius can not think of a single time when he related to Regulus, who was always so keen to impress their parents. They spent a lot of their childhood avoiding each other, or cursing each other as much as possible.

"I've put you in here," Sirius mumbles, leaning heavily on the door frame, keeping his distance as Remus explores. "I know, it's covered in Slytherin banners, and those clippings from the Prophet about Voldemort are the most ridiculous, the most - "

"It's fine, Sirius, I'll get by just fine."

"Yeah, well...," Sirius says, moving back to let Remus out, pulling the bedroom door shut with a sharp tug. "I figured you would be in and out most of the time and I need those rooms downstairs for the Weasley's, it seemed like the right decision at the time."

"Yes, it was - it makes perfect sense. Thank you, Sirius."

Sirius shrugs and moves to the last door on the third floor. It bears his own name and he enters with the odd feeling of walking into ones past. Nothing has changed. His mother wasn't the only one able to enlist a Permanent Sticking Charm; symbols of his Gryffindor life seem to be everywhere, from the banner hanging from the ends of his bed to the desk in the corner of the room, with etchings of his house name scratched into the very wood.

During his time living here, he vowed to make his parents lives a misery and his younger self had plastered scantily clad muggle women all over the walls, side by side with pictures of his friends at Hogwarts, the antithesis of his brother's room. He wanted to make his own space an everlasting shrine to show just how unlike his family he was. He wanted to show them that a pure blood name didn't define him.

Remus steps into the stale room behind Sirius and takes it all in with a small smile. He can half recall the scent of a younger Sirius just from being in there, the obnoxious combination of tobacco and leather and Peppermint Toads.

"By Merlin, I couldn't wait to leave this place." Sirius says, picking up an old magazine and shaking the dust off of it. Quiddicth players in outdated uniforms zoom around on the cover, swerving a bludger that zips across the page. "I used to count down the days until school started, or till James bailed me out and let me stay with him over the holidays. They were always good to me, the Potters..." 

"I don't doubt it, they were wonderful people." Remus responds, perching himself on the edge of the desk.

"I used to wait by the window for James' owl, we got through an obscene amount of parchment. I used to use my father's finest, just to spite him." Sirius recounts, moving to kneel beside his bed. "In fact, I think I still have the letters, if I just - "

He lowers himself onto his stomach, and heedless of the dust that has settled into an even layer on the carpet, slides himself under the bed. Remus watches as his feet kick about for a moment before Sirius resurfaces, clutching a small wooden chest.

"Every letter any of you ever sent me." he declares, pulling the lid off with an air of impatience, brushing away strands of dark hair from his face.

Inside, there are hundreds of letters squashed together, varying in sizes and handwriting; James' somewhat boxy hand, Remus' swirling scribble, Peter's minute chicken scratch. Promptly, he pulls out one from Remus.

"Look, this is where you got made prefect!" Sirius says with evident delight, leaning into the letter. He adopts a voice that sounds remarkably like Remus. " _Padfoot, look - this is a bit awkward for me to tell you because I know how you're going to react, especially after that entire conversation on the train back from Hogwarts in July where you thought it would be funny to impersonate me -_ "

"What's changed?" Remus interrupts.

" _\- and proceeded to give a speech where I thanked the school, Dumbledore and my irresponsible friends for making me look better than the rest of the year, especially Sirius Black despite his obvious rugged good looks, so that I could be awarded the privilege of being made prefect. You then attempted an ill-advised hover charm on me to emphasise my saint-like persona and I believe I can still feel the lump on my head, which I need to pay you back in kind for. Well, this is why I'm writing - I got made prefect. I know you're probably taking a moment to roll about the floor, choking on your own laughter, but please. Sirius. DO NOT TELL JAMES. I want him to hear this directly from my own mouth - or, should I say, quill?_ "

"I remember writing that. I didn't want you to tell James because I knew you'd conspire against me, I was fully expecting an ambush the first day back. I shuddered at the possibilities, I had nightmares in the last week of summer about self-projecting ink wells and dungbombs going off on every corner of the school." Remus chuckles, taking the letter to examine his own writing. "Ugh, I forgot I used to sign off with a moon. How subtle of me."

"We would never!" Sirius says, his face all innocence. "Well...okay, we would have. But we didn't! We took pity on you!"

"And I'm eternally grateful to you for that."

Sirius sorts out another letter, eyes greedily reading through it. "This is from James! _Padfoot, my parents are forcing me to write you - not that I didn't WANT to write to you, Sirius, I was just waiting upon something fantastic to happen to me before I bored you to death with the details. You're not exactly one to stay focused unless someone is getting attacked by a dragon._ "

Sirius breaks off to peer at Remus over the parchment, "He says that like it's a bad thing."

"You went through that dragon phase, don't you remember? It was all you could talk about. You used to visit Hagrid and you'd both daydream over getting your hands on a dragon egg." Remus says. He indicates to the letter, eager to hear more. "Go on!"

" _Anyway, back to the point. My parents want you to come and stay with us next summer. All of next summer. My mum seems to be worried for your personal safety, she seems to think that your brother will get that house elf of yours to throttle you in your sleep - okay, that doesn't seem like such a jump. You should come and live with us though, just pack extra before we go back to Hogwarts this September. That way, you can just head right home with us at the end of the year. How about it?_ "

Sirius lowers the letter, staring at James Potter's handwriting. It's as if he'd written it only yesterday and suddenly, Sirius feels the pang of grief for his friend. It never really leaves you, the death of a loved one, and most days you can live with it. There are times though, when you least expect it, where the ache of bereavement hits you hard, as if anew. It will always be there, lurking beneath the surface, and Sirius finds himself in one of these very moments.

"You know, I wouldn't change any of it. If it all happened again tomorrow, I'd still go after Peter."

"I know."

It's enough, Remus' understanding. It's enough for Sirius to shake off the ill feelings and thoughts of what he could have done to save James and Lily, to instead laugh at recollections of their youth and read the words of a dead friend. 

Together, they make their way through the chest of letters, leaving only the bundle of Peter's letters untouched.


	5. Kreacher Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.
> 
> Mischief Managed.

Inside the master bedroom of 12 Grimmauld Place, a mass clean out is underway. Remus is ripping down the purple wall hangings, employing a severing charm to neatly trim the drapes from their poles. Sirius, on the far side of the room, is dismantling an extravagant mirror, ignoring its indignant squeaks and attempts at bribery.

"If I told you that you were the fairest, would you leave me be?" it cheeps, just as Sirius unhinges its left side from the wall; it slides to a skewed angle, letting out a whistling scream. It continues on, more urgently. "I could say that, you know, all you have to do is keep me here and you'll have guaranteed compliments forever!"

"Not bloody likely." Sirius grumbles, glowering at Remus chuckling from behind him, loosening the other side so that it crashes to the floor, shattering to pieces. "My mother, always so vain that she needed a mirror to tell her she looked good everyday. Just goes to show, mirrors do lie."

In the corner of the room, Buckbeak paws nervously at the ground, gouging deep claw marks into the wooden flooring, his back leg kicking out and knocking over the lamp on the bedside table. Sirius rushes over and pats the hippogriff on his feathered neck, calming him with the reward of a dead rat.

"Hey, it's okay, Buckbeak."

It had been problematic, to say the least, to get Buckbeak up to the the third floor on the day of his arrival. He had shown up in the care of Nymphadora Tonks, late in the night, who had personally flown him from Hogsmeade to London over the steady course of three days.

"Thought he'd like the fresh air, the chance to stretch his wings, you know?" she explained, luminous green hair twisted into a knot on her head. She'd turned to Sirius, who was greeting Buckbeak with enthusiasm. "He didn't trust me at first, I think he was waiting for you to come back, but then I told him I was taking him to you and he seemed to understand. He bowed back to me right away after that."

Tonks had rambled on, grinning broadly at Remus. "We hit a nasty bit of rain over Leicester but he was brilliant, flew right through it. I couldn't feel my face for the next two hours but it was amazing."

They'd had trouble bidding farewell to Tonks, who was so enthralled by the task at hand that she'd offered to stay and assist in getting Buckbeak to the master bedroom. Unable to think of a reason for her to leave, Remus could only nod, glancing over at a bemused but approving Sirius. He'd had a feeling they would need all the help they could get.

The three of them had worked together, Sirius in front and moving backwards, cajoling Buckbeak up the stairs with gentle murmurs of encouragement and a substantial amount of rats. Tonks had maintained a near constant stream of discussion, pausing only when she tripped over the hem of her robes and into the banister, almost taking Remus down with her.

"Ouch - oh, I'm fine, thanks Remus. Sorry about that. D'you know, I'm used to it - learnt to accept my clumsiness years ago. Keeps me on my toes - or off of them, depending how you look at it."

Buckbeak had then decided to have a break on the first floor, folding his wings over his head to nap. Tonks was unconcerned at the lateness of the hour and, sitting with legs crossed beside a sleeping Buckbeak, kept up a lively monologue to a drowsy Sirius and a dumbstruck, yet determinedly intent, Remus.

"Bit grim in here, isn't it? Smells like one of Moody's old boots." she said brightly as she scrutinised one of the house elf heads. "My mum would probably faint at all this dust. D'you know, she tried to get me to change my hair the other day? She said maybe I should consider a more conservative colour, now that I'm getting older, but where's the fun in that? What d'you think? I quite like the green."

"Oh, er - yes. It's very - uh - exceptional."

"I told her that I have enough of being conservative at work. Why shouldn't I be allowed to enjoy myself? It would seem like a waste of being a Metamorphmagus if I just went around with the same look, every single day. I'm not really one for prim and proper - "

By the time they had resumed the climb and eventually made it to the third floor, Remus was very much engaged in the conversation, unable to resist for long against the tenacious verve of Nymphadora Tonks. She had remained with them long after Buckbeak was secure in the bedroom, casually propped up against the headboard of the sunken bed as she nattered on, until finally dashing off in a fit of panic at the realisation she had work the coming day, a swish of black robes and green hair and repeated goodbyes.

Even now, Remus smiles to himself at remembering her endless chatter, clearing up the broken mirror with the wave of his wand.

"I think we're about done in here," he calls over to Sirius. "Buckbeak should be more than happy now."

"Right," Sirius says, hauling the box of family heirlooms from the bed. "I think we should sort out the kitchen next. I know Molly is coming tomorrow but it's probably best to get a start on it. I assume they'll want to eat when they arrive and I'd rather none of us get poisoned from any Doxy eggs hidden in a teapot."

They make their way down the flights of stairs, tiptoing past the portrait of Sirius' mother, the box of rubbish levitating between them. As they enter the kitchen, they stare about at the cavernous room, at the decades old grime that covers every surface, not sure of where to start.

"Well, it's going to take a lot of work - " Remus says at length, rolling up his sleeves delicately.

"Probably needs all the cleaning spells you can think of. I only really know Scourgify, I reckon that'll do for the cauldron and all the pots and pans."

"There's Tergeo, too, which will help with lifting the stains." Remus recommends, pulling a face at the inch thick grease on a nearby plate. "Utterly disgusting."

After showing Sirius the correct wand movement for Tergeo, and correcting him on the pronunciation with as much patience and encouragement as he would use on a student - Sirius is quick to learn when he pays attention but he has a tendency to procrastinate - they get to work. 

It takes up all of their afternoon - the room is still gloomy even with all the gas lamps and fire lit, and they struggle to see their progress - but eventually, every surface is not exactly _perfect_ but at least cleaner than what it was, and the pots and pans and plates are neatly stored and free from dust and other unsavoury substances. The same cannot be said for Sirius; he is grouchy and starving, his clothes coated in grease, nursing a bite from a particularly vicious Doxy. He snatches the bottle of antidote from Remus' already outstretched hand. 

"You could use Tergeo to get rid of all that." Remus says, pointing at Sirius' dirty shirt and trousers, having already cleaned off his own clothes.

He snorts in response, purposely laying down his wand on the table. "Remus, I never want to use that spell again in my entire life. Right, all we need to do is chuck out a couple of things and at least the kitchen is sanitary enough to eat in."

"Can you hear that?" Remus asks suddenly, cocking his head at the snuffling sounds. " Is that Kreacher again?" 

Sirius stalks to the boiler room door and flings it open, squinting in the dark until he finds Kreacher lurking in the corner beside a  
pile of rags.

The house elf is hunched over a pair of pinstriped trousers, pressing them into his leathery face. Sirius had been momentarily caught off guard when he stepped into Kreacher's boiler room, to be confronted with the spectacle he is witnessing, but he quickly gets over his initial shock and turns instead to anger, his face beet red.

"Kreacher, what in the name of Merlin are you doing?!"

"Kreacher is doing nothing, Master. Kreacher was just cleaning and found master's - "

"Don't lie to me Kreacher! I think we both know you haven't cleaned since my childhood." Sirius spits, ripping the trousers from the elf's hands. "These were my father's. We have no use for them here. They can go in the bin like everything else."

"Whatever Master wishes..." Kreacher grumbles, bowing, shooting Sirius a filthy look. "Master is not fit to stand within the walls of this sacred house. How mistress loathed him, how gleeful she was when she shot his disgraceful face from the tapestry."

Sirius' eyes pop and he pushes his way into the boiler room, rummaging through Kreacher's nest to find item after item sandwiched between the grungy layers, flinging them out of the room and into the kitchen. Kreacher screeches and tries to stop him but Sirius shouts an order for him to obey, leaving him no choice but to fall unwillingly silent, reproachful as he watches his Master assemble his treasured tokens in a pile on the table.

"Sirius - "

He ignores Remus' murmured plea and stares the house elf in the face, holding up the collection of objects, brandishing them in disgust.

"My mother's necklace. A pair of her earrings. My father's shoe. Regulus' school book." Sirius hisses, throwing each item in turn into the box. "A spoon with the family crest. What were you hoping to use these for, Kreacher? It's junk, all of it."

The house elf bows in obedience but his words are far from it, "Kreacher was making sure spiteful Master could not throw out all of my mistress's belongings. Kreacher will keep them here, where they are safe."

"They belong to me now, I have every right to get rid of it. Go upstairs, Kreacher, I don't want to see you."

Kreacher complies, slinking from the room, his mutterings of vehemence echoing down the staircase and rattles around the pots overhead. Remus isn't sure how to broach the subject - he never knows what to say around Sirius in fear of upsetting him further - and toys with a candlestick holder for several minutes, long enough to build up a semblance of courage.

"Sirius," Remus says quietly, setting down the holder on the long kitchen table. The heaviness of the metal snicks the table surface. "Sirius, I think it would be wise to point out to you that Kreacher is a living being. You should treat him better."

His friend takes a long moment to react. Remus cannot tell what he's thinking, Sirius' long hair is hanging over his face as he sorts through the box, hands searching aimlessly.

"He's as bad as everything else in this rotten house!" he says shortly. "He's still loyal to my mother and is operating under the delusion that she had the right idea. He thinks she was entitled to the best because of her blood status."

"Maybe if you gave him a chance - "

"You'd have more success convincing Mad Eye to snog Lucius Malfoy. There's no reasoning with him."

"But I really think you should at least try."

"I'm telling you, Remus, you'd be wasting your breath." Sirius insists heatedly, scooping up the candlestick and dumping it in the box. He stares at its contents, little more than clutter to him but worth plenty of gold if you know where to sell it, and yet Sirius would rather destroy it all than know it was still out there in the world. "Look - let's just, just finish up here and get some dinner. I'm sick of the sight of all this stuff."

They retire from their task but Remus is still uneasy about the episode with Kreacher, he is certain no good will come from neglecting him so. Sirius is already thinking ahead to the new guests that the following day will bring them; not even in their wildest dreams could they imagine that they would soon be receiving Harry Potter himself, bearing his own account of a Dementor attack in Little Whinging and a dreaded hearing at the Ministry of Magic hanging over his head.


	6. Beside the Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.
> 
> Mischief Managed.

A shaggy, black dog is chasing the Hogwarts Express, eager and more than a little sad to see the last glimpse of Harry Potter's face pressed against the window to watch him run alongside, until the train rounds a corner and he is no longer in sight. The final few carriages whizz by - the children pointing excitedly at Sirius now sitting at the end of the platform, tail wagging less enthusiastically than before - and then its gone, nothing more than a few wisps of smoke from the steam engine. 

"For heaven's sake, Sirius, come on!" Mrs Weasley hisses down at him, shaking her head disapprovingly and marching away. Mr Weasley shrugs in an apology and hurries after his wife, vanishing through the wall that leads to the muggle world beyond.

Sirius can hear the Hogwarts Express whistling in the distance and he feels a pang of nostalgia and yearning for his own time at Hogwarts. He wishes he were on that train - if only he could turn back the clocks and relive those years there, to have the chance to see James again, to be able to walk around without a price on his head, to just be another unrecognisable face.

"I miss it too."

Sirius tilts his head up to look up at Remus beside him, he hadn't heard him approach. He's gazing off at the tracks, hands stuffed deep inside his pockets, his lined face made even more so from a tight smile. How did Remus have the knack of knowing exactly what he is thinking, even as a dog?

"We better go, the others will be waiting and Molly doesn't seem too pleased as it is." Remus warns. "I won't say you shouldn't have come, it's done now. However, it would probably be prudent to remain at Grimmauld Place until we can be sure that you'll be safe out in public."

Sirius growls low in his throat and Remus ducks his head, scuffling his heel across the platform floor, feeling the brunt of the dissatisfaction of the dog.

"I know - I know you wanted to see Harry off but you must remember that Peter would have told...those people about your - er - disguise of sorts." he says, glancing about the platform at the dispersing crowds of teary-eyed parents and screeching younger children. "Now I really think we should be off, we can discuss this later. Come, heel boy."

Remus chuckles when Sirius bites at the hem of his jacket and leads the way through to the muggle side of King's Cross station. Moody, Tonks and Arthur and Molly Weasley are waiting on the other side, trying to blend in and chatting nonchalantly among themselves. A few passers by shoot nervous glances at Moody, who still looks conspicuous despite his efforts of concealing his magical, electric blue eye with a cap.

"About time!" Molly reprimands when she spots them, already taking off at a brisk walk, stepping around a couple evidently saying their goodbyes. Her voice is a persistent hiss. "Honestly, going against Dumbledore's orders, Sirius. Oh, don't give me that puppy dog act!" she admonishes when he cocks his head at her, ears pricked up.

Arthur has to job to keep astride with Molly, panting slightly. "Now Molly, there doesn't seem to have been any damage caused, it appears that we've got away with it."

Molly barely turns to throw her husband a look of utter contempt. "Oh, don't you say that! You'll be encouraging him to go out more! For all we know, one of HIS spies could have seen him. This was too much of a risk."

Arthur wearily scratches at patchy red hair, nearly knocking off his glasses, far too concerned to delight in the muggle ticket barriers or the woman in front of them muttering non-stop into her mobile phone. In fact, now that Harry has left their company, the tensions that the group had managed to conceal has come to the forefront.

"You could have endangered Harry, I hope you know that." Molly continues heatedly, addressing the suddenly crabby looking dog. "Lucius Malfoy's son attends Hogwarts too, I saw them on the platform so they certainly noticed us."

"Molly, perhaps this isn't the best time to - "

"When will the best time be, Remus? Whatever we say to him, he never seems to listen, even when it's for his own good." she asks, thus ending Remus' participation in the conversation.

Arthur shares a look with Remus, one designed to apologise and empathise. "Remus is right, Molly. If you must do this, it can wait until we're somewhere private."

Molly glowers, shaking with rage. Her eyes are too bright when she next speaks. "I suppose you think he was right in leaving the house, then?"

"No, dear, but I understand why he wanted to come today. I'm putting my foot down, no more talking of this until we're back in the house."

Up ahead and now leading the group, Tonks is regaling Moody with a story about her work at the Ministry, Remus listening in with quiet interest, matching their speedy pace as they walk back to Grimmauld Place through the streets of London.

"D'you know, yesterday on a routine run, Ruggle said that I cheated my way into the job? He said being a Metamorphmagus gave me an unfair advantage and that I should have completed the exam without having to use my ability." she says, bristling, her arm wound through Moody's. "He's the one who always calls me Nymphadora. He knows I hate it."

With her current guise - in the form of a small old lady, her hair in tight, grey curls - she and Moody could pass as an elderly couple taking a stroll. Moody stumps alongside her, his magical eye spinning around in his head beneath the hat pulled low over his face.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't listen to that idiot. He can't find his own way to the right end of a broomstick." he growls, glancing about as they exit King's Cross. "I don't know how he got to be an Auror."

"Exactly," Tonks laughs, shooing away some pigeons in their path. "I told him that if he had a problem with me being there, then he should consult with Kingsley because he was the one who gave me the job. He soon shut up, he'd never question Kingley's motives."

Moody grimaces as he scans the crowd at a pedestrian crossing. "I don't know why Kingsley hired Ruggle to begin with. His standards must be slipping."

"I'm beginning to think maybe Kingsley didn't have a choice..." Remus interjects in an undertone, pursing his lips.

"He tried to tell me that a trace of potion we found at a rumoured Death Eater hideout was Shrinking Solution when it was obviously Polyjuice Potion. How did he mix them up? They aren't even the same consistency! Yet he insisted I was the one mistaken! I would have jinxed him then and there if Kingsley hadn't already warned me that if I gave Ruggle a beak one more time, then he'd have no choice but to report me." Tonks explains zealously, unquestionably proud of herself. Her voice drops and she glances at Moody, frowning slightly. "I wonder why Ruggle was so determined to tell me it was Shrinking Solution though - d'you think he's conspiring with the Minister for Magic? Maybe he's trying to cover up proof of the return of - "

"Keep your voice down, girl, anyone could be listening!" Moody snaps, gesturing at the Weasley's to hurry up. "You can say what you like when we get away from all these people."

"All right, Moody, don't get your wand in a knot."

There is not a single word uttered from the group as they maneuver through the throng of commuters - except for Molly's audible tutting at Sirius diving about around the legs of the crowd - not until they turn off into the street where Grimmauld Place resides and wait inconspicuously for the muggle postman to finish his round. The silence is broken by Moody.

"They're getting later and later, " he grumbles, indicating to the postman exiting the road. Moody looks at a pocket-watch concealed in his jacket. "Could be spies, disguised as muggles..."

"Really, Moody, that's ridiculous." Tonks laughs as they wait for Grimmauld Place to squeeze itself between its neighbours.

When they're all safely inside, Sirius changing back into a man as soon as he steps foot past the doorway, he turns swiftly on Molly.

"Come on then, let's hear it." Sirius says blithely, folding his arms across his chest.

The others in the group disperse the moment Sirius has spoken; Moody's wooden footsteps clunk intermediately down the stairs to the kitchen, followed by a once again youthful and pink-haired Tonks, who has the sense to slip quietly away from the scene. Arthur, catching a look of scorn from Molly, slides into the drawing room, the tips of his ears bright red.

Only Remus remains, selecting a spot on the staircase to offer at least a smidgen of privacy for the two, yet close enough to step in if he is needed.

Molly straightens up and lifts her chin in the air, a worthy opponent for Sirius Black, years of arguments won from her experience raising Fred and George, who usually have a knack for worming their way out of trouble - except with their mother.

"You shouldn't have left this house today. Dumbledore isn't happy with you for telling Harry more than he should know - "

"Harry has every right to all the knowledge we've gathered, Molly. As far as I'm concerned, Harry is the only one Voldemort - " 

Molly flashes her eyes at the name but Sirius doesn't care. " - is really after, we're just obstacles in the way. Harry is the one he wants, so Harry should learn all he can about his plans. He's already coped with so much - "

"Which is precisely why he should be able to enjoy time as a normal boy. He's fifteen years old and look at what he's been through."

"He'll never be a normal boy, you know that. He needs to be prepared for when Voldemort next attacks, otherwise he'll be defenceless."

"There must be a reason why Dumbledore wanted that information kept from Harry!"

"He didn't seem to think we should know of that reason though - "

Molly's voice quivers, her cheeks splotchy and pink. "Are you _doubting_ him?!"

Sirius pauses and ponders over the question, repeating it back to himself. It's something he's been asking himself a lot lately, confined in Grimmauld Place, days and nights overlapping until he's not sure how much time has passed. It's a drab existence when the other Order members head out on missions and he suspects that now Harry is finally back at school, he'll be seeing a lot less of them.

"I sometimes wonder if we put too much faith in him." he finally says, offering no further explanation, glancing up into the shadows of the staircase where he knows Remus is lurking.

Sirius knows it will be futile to argue the point with Molly, an avid follower and believer of Dumbledore. He, himself, would follow Dumbledore until his last days but ever since the Potter's died, half buried beneath the rubble of their cottage, their child's future cast into an uncertainty that none of them could comprehend even now, his reliance on the man seems to be waning. 

"So are you going to tell me that I'm a bad role model for Harry? That I've pushed my way into his life after being absent for so long? Because I've heard you say it all before, Molly, and I'm tired. All I want is what's best for Harry. That's all I've ever tried to do. Like it or not, I am his godfather and I deserve at least a say in what he's allowed to know - and I say, that should be left up to him, not us."

Molly bites her lips, shaking her head. "I won't repeat what I said then but...Dumbledore's actions always have purpose, you should listen to him. I really think you should do what he asks, Sirius."

"Look, let's move past this, all right? I don't want to butt heads with you everytime we meet."

"Just - just try and not do anything rash. I want what's best for Harry too." Molly says, piercing him with a pointed look before hurrying off to join Arthur in the drawing room.

Sirius watches her go, breathing heavily, half wondering whether she will storm back out and find something else to nag him over. He can't quite believe that he kept as calm as he had.

"I think, " Remus begins as he descends the stairs, pulling his tie loose from around his neck. "You handled that remarkably well. I can't deny that I'm impressed, Sirius."

Sirius glances at him, at the worry that is only just fading from his friend's face. Remus decides to lose the tie altogether and yanks it off in one swift motion, slinging it over his shoulder as he reaches the last step.

"Moony, I surprise even myself."


	7. An Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.
> 
> Mischief Managed.

The day is an enviable one; the kind of day where the sun shines down and beats against your neck, where heat rises in suffocating pockets of air from the pavement and you can't quite catch your breath, and ice cream steadily drips onto already sticky, sweaty fingers.

Inside Grimmauld Place, it's a cold as a tomb and as cheerless as one, too. Sirius has taken to gazing out of the barred windows, lost in a train of thought which tends to loop endlessly over the same subject. He watches a small child in the street, just old enough to walk, waddle down towards its cooing parents, their arms reaching out to gather the child up and smother it with kisses and compliments.

His fingers drum against the windowsill, the rhythm restless and stuttering, before he twists to look to the man slumped in a faded armchair on the far side of the room, his chin resting on his chest, eyes half shut with the risk of slumber, a book lying open on his lap.

"Remus?" Sirius calls, decisively putting his back to the happy family outside.

The man lurches to attention, his grin sheepish, as if ashamed to be caught dozing. He pushes the hair from off his forehead, rousing himself, ruffled but alert.

"Hmm?"

"Look, I was thinking. Maybe if I went dog, we could go out for a bit? You could put me on a lead if you want, no one would look twice. Well, maybe only to comment on how handsome your canine companion is." he says with a roguish grin.

Remus appears momentarily startled, his mouth working. Realising that the way he deals with this could influence the strength of Sirius' reaction, he pushes himself out of the chair and comes over to the window, sparing a second to note the family turning the corner and slipping from view.

He purses his lips, a tell-tale sign that he is in deep contemplation. Sirius already knows that it means he's automatically decided against the proposition, that the reason for his stilted silence is that he's trying to conjure up the right words that will soften the blow best.

"Sirius," he begins, using that pitying look which Sirius has come to hate. "I wish I could, but it's too dangerous right now. There'll be plenty of time when your name is cleared but for now, you must stay in here. I know what it's costing you - I know how you feel about this house - and I'm so sorry for that, but you can't leave, not yet."

Sirius lets out a rough growl, a noise that just catches at the back of his throat. He's angry and embarrassed - embarrassed that it hasn't even been _that_ long and he's already bored of house arrest; his thoughts are still fixated on marching out of the front door and never returning, and Remus knows he must work a little harder to change his mind.

"Your circumstance is challenging, Sirius, but I beg you to think of Harry. How would he feel if you - "

Sirius waves an agitated hand, cutting the speaker off mid-sentence. "Yes, I know. Dumbledore has already given me that speech, Remus. It was only a suggestion, but if the prospect is so horrifying to you..."

He should have known that Remus Lupin would not be thrilled at the idea of him leaving the house. There may have been a time in their history where Remus would have merely tutted an inaudible reproach at such a mindless proposal, but nevertheless allowed Sirius to do as he pleased, along with their former comrades, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. He would have even joined them on their little adventure, reluctant to oppose all three of his school friends, soon forgetting his disapproval with the snap of a dog's teeth at his ankles, the nudge of a gentle stag's antlers, the squeak of a rodent at his feet.

The years that have separated them have done neither of the men kind; though fuller in face and seemingly healthier in appearance, the scars of Sirius' time in the wizarding prison, Azkaban, run deep in his bones, right down to his core and stained in his blood. Surveyers often glimpse the deadened look that flits into his expressions; a hollow, unseeing stare that alludes to less than cheerful thoughts, his mouth slack from recalling unwanted horrors, until he catches himself and blinks as if found in bright sunlight and grins a crooked grin, as if the whole moment never happened, as if he is once again the handsome boy of Gryffindor.

Remus, on the other hand, has grown ever shabbier by the day. Hair greyer than before and face lined beyond his age, Remus has accepted his fate with quiet dignity. His own personal scars are on display for the world to see, faded as the days turned to months, and the months turned to years, yet they have since remained an ever-present reminder of his unfortunate condition, as painful in memory as they were when they were first cut into his skin. Even now, he brushes a conscious finger across the length of one, running from his eye and over the bridge of his nose, unaware of Sirius' watchful eyes and the sympathetic, tender downturn of his lips.

No, the world has not been friendly to these two associates.

"You're acting impulsively, you should at least acknowledge that!" Remus reprimands, shaking his head in disappointment. "Sirius - Padfoot, my old friend, you must think carefully these days. We are not at Hogwarts. James - James is dead, he can no longer save us from our foolish mistakes, and Peter - "

He stops abruptly, catching the murderous look on Sirius' face at the mention of James' betrayer. He proceeds gently, cautiously, speaking in a tone that he has had to employ around Sirius more times than he'd care to admit.

"My point is, I've already lost two of my best friends. Need I lose another?"

Sirius scowls in defeat, a look so reminiscent of his adolescent self that Remus almost laughs. Instead, he claps his hand onto Sirius' shoulder, knowing it is best to keep his gratitude to himself. It would do no good for Sirius to know just how anxious he makes him feel, how worried he becomes at the idea of Sirius slipping through their fingers to do something utterly reckless, something _utterly Sirius Black_. It has always been in his nature; that inert idiocy which makes him prone to life threatening situations.

Remus allows himself a quiet sigh, unable to shake the uncomfortable itch that this particular battle is not yet over. There will be other days of facing repressed frustration, other times of raised voices and desperate pleas, all for the sake of his friend's safety. It's as if he's been fighting this same war for years now, a tricky dance of appeasing and calming, forgotten and buried during Sirius' time in Azkaban but freshly unearthed with his discovered innocence. 

For now though, Sirius seems to be begrudgingly persuaded, striking an impressively resigned figure as he leans against the edge of the windowsill. He casts a moody eye around the room with obvious revulsion, folding his arms across his chest.

"I'm beginning to wonder what's worse; having to live in this abysmal place once again or being forced to listen to Snivellus harp on about his _very important, secret missions_. The slimy git, you must have seen his smug face smirking at me all through that last meeting? Or perhaps his enormous nose got in the way?" 

Remus' mouth twitches with the threat of a smile. "I'm sure Severus never intended to, _ah_ , purposely create any tension between the two of you. He was just doing his job, as Dumbledore instructed."

Sirius throws back his head, releasing a bark of a laugh, one hand clutching at the windowsill to support himself. "You never cease to astonish me! If you spent as often as I have, seeing him flap around like a bat in that ridiculous cloak of his, then I'm sure you would speak differently."

"You forget, Sirius, I spent a whole year with him at Hogwarts. Sharing the teaching lounge, the dinner table, staff meetings. He made it very clear of his contempt for me..."

"And how I commend you, Moony. You truly are the best of us." Sirius says, executing a perfect low bow. "A saint among peasants, you really are. I, on the other hand, have no such patience with the man. I wonder if I could jinx him under the table when he's next here? You know, Molly's daughter taught me the most excellent Bat Bogey Hex the other day."

Remus slips into his old self, or his hidden self, as easy as breathing. The jovial turn in conversation helps him adopt a lightness in his voice that he wouldn't have thought possible five minutes ago, "Why, Padfoot. I see that you're still a Marauder, through and through."

"It's a title I'm loathe to relinquish, I'm afraid. It would be indecent, sacrilege even, to refuse to maintain the status of my legend, don't you think?"

This, finally, draws a laugh from Remus. Then again, Sirius has always known how to push against that determined and often reluctant exterior. He's had years of practice, prodding and poking, this way and that, until the breathy chuckle of Remus Lupin eventually escapes his always serious mouth. He can remember the first time he managed to produce a laugh from his friend, a memory fondly shared between them; the triumphant victory of young Black as a shy, unassuming boy with the eyes of a man laughed for what seemed the first time, the sound hesitant to begin with, like he could scarcely believe it, until he was cackling with relief as an invisible fear of rejection lifted from him. It was a day that sealed their friendship with the firmest of bonds.

The comfort of their acquaintance is something of a reprieve for the two, a fleeting chance to shake off the accumulated woes and troubles of their past; to imagine, perhaps, of what it was to be seventeen and naive once again.


	8. An Unpleasant Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.
> 
> Mischief Managed.

Screeching, as unattractive to the ears as the sound of nails scraping a chalkboard, reverberates through the empty house. The screams, persistent and unrelenting, shake the cobwebs from the noses of beheaded house elves and causes the cabinet in the other room to shudder in agitation.

"How - many - times - have - I - told - them - to - not - use - the doorbell!" roars Sirius, ferociously tugging at the curtains of his mother's portrait. 

"BLOOD TRAITOR! - "

Sirius pulls harder than ever, "For the love of - "

"BESMIRCHING OUR MOST NOBLE HOUSE - "

"Merlin's Beard! Would you just - "

"BRINGING DISHONOUR AND SHAME TO YOUR FAMILY - "

The doorbell rings again, held down to prolong the buzzing. With it brings a fresh round of shrieking from the unfortunate portrait, of which Sirius has been unable to pull down and burn despite his best efforts - his most tireless efforts. No doubt his mother fixed a Permanent Sticking Charm to it herself, finding ways to irritate him even after death.

"UNGRATEFUL, FILTHY, SCUM - "

"SHUT UP, ALREADY!" Sirius yells, abandoning the portrait for the time being, to stop the other noise that he has at least some control over.

He wrenches open the front door, the wood of it heavy and fine, still miraculously glossy from it's frequent polishing during his childhood, words of a rebuke forming on his lips.

"Now, I know I've told all of you countless times to not use the blasted - "

The sentence dies with the sight of his visitor, thirty minutes too early for the arranged meeting of the Order.

Severus Snape, dressed in his usual black wizarding robes despite the advice of Dumbledore suggesting muggle-dress to avoid attention, glowers at Sirius from the top step of his house, lank hair coiling around his face.

"NO GOOD, TREACHEROUS SON - "

"Out of my way, Black, I'm in a hurry. Important things to do, you see. I doubt that you can remember the delicate balance of a hectic schedule, or rather, if you ever knew at all. I don't imagine the Dementors would let their prisoners prattle around Azkaban for their own amusement."

Sirius grinds his teeth and tries to conjure up the nonchalant facade of Remus. Unwillingly, he steps aside and sweeps an arm out in what could be conceived as a welcoming gesture, a motion that strains against the very essence of Sirius' character.

"Snape. Always a pleasure." he spits, shutting the door to 12 Grimmauld Place behind his guest, resisting the urge to trap the tail-end of his cloak between the door and its frame.

Snape turns briefly to cast wicked, black eyes upon his school nemesis, thin lips curling with malicious enjoyment. The temptation to mock a former tormentor is always irresistible and Snape relishes his abundant chances to make any time spent with Sirius vexing for him.

"I see you've learnt some manners. Presumably, you've been using your time to take lessons in etiquette from your house elf."

Grinning at the sudden rigidity of Sirius' posture, Professor Severus Snape sweeps pompously through the dark corridor, leaving Sirius to deal with the wails of his mother's portrait by himself.

"THANKLESS, STUPID BOY - "

"Oh, be quiet you useless, old hag."

Fuelled by his encounter with Snape, Sirius gives one final tug on the curtains, drawing them tightly shut. The sounds of his mother cut off immediately, leaving Grimmauld Place eerily, yet not unwelcome, silent.

That is, quiet besides the muffled footsteps of Snape pacing the kitchen below. With a heavy sigh, Sirius moodily stalks the corridors of his family home, scowling into each of the darkened rooms as if they had caused him personal injury. He knows that heading down to Snape, especially without any fellow Order members to intervene during an inevitable outbreak of fighting, is a bad idea, a wholly thoughtless one. Sirius doesn't care though, he is inclined to run with his foul mood for once, and if it means facing the wrath of Dumbledore, then he'll suffer the consequences without remorse.

He enters the kitchen, automatically looking around for Snape. He's already seated himself at the head of the table - Sirius' own seat - a stack of parchment before him, assuredly detailing his countless reports for his particular role in the Order. The sight of it makes Sirius' stomach sick and he feels the uneasy pang of his uselessness hit him, not for the first time since the Order was reinstated.

"Make yourself at home, by all means." he says with disdain, walking slowly to the chair at the other end of the table. As he lowers himself into the seat, Snape's eyes tail his every move.

"And how does one make themselves at home in such a - ah - place?" 

"I don't know, you seem to be doing a good job of it."

Snape raises his eyebrows, his tone full of mock surprise, "I expected Dumbledore to have you on a tight leash, Black, though I'm astonished to find you still here. You were never one for following rules, always strutting around Hogwarts with that disgusting air of authority."

Sirius' wand hand jumps on the table, not unnoticed by Snape. He knows exactly how to get inside Sirius' head, a pleasure he enjoys thoroughly now that they are no longer boys at school. Their circumstances may have changed, they may be for all intents and purposes on the same side, but these men have a loathing for each other that cannot be undone by the passing of time and the start of a war. 

This burning malice was forged in their childhood, a grudge so unbreakable that it had not been weakened with the years, but rather made stronger. It was left to stew, like a potion ripening; this had been aided by the events of two years ago, when Snape was more than willing to hand Sirius over to the Dementors so they could perform the Kiss on him, a fate worse even than death itself. Its is not something Sirius' has been happy to let go of.

"I'm surprised you haven't chewed up the carpet yet." Snape says, voice as soft as the slither of silk. "Or perhaps - can it be? How very quaint - the dog, _domesticated_ at long last."

Sirius is straining against the desire to retaliate but a voice in his head, which sounds a lot like Remus, is telling him not to rise to it. Snape is enjoying the twitch in Sirius' jaw too much to stop now though.

"Potter must be thrilled with you. Then again, he's always swanning about the school, acting so important, expecting us all to grovel at his feet. He must relate to you, Black. You were much the same."

"Keep Harry out of this, Snape. He's a boy. What business do you have picking on him?"

Snape shouts over Sirius, face sour. "You see, I've had ample chances to observe him. He has an overinflated ego like his father did before him."

Sirius jerks to his feet, knocking the chair to the floor with a clatter, wood against stone. Snape mirrors the action, the parchment before him rustling, face livid.

"You deserved everything you got, you know that? Every hex I hit you with, you deserved it. If James were here, he'd - "

"How sentimental. However, seeing as he was stupid enough to get himself killed, he cannot grace us with his presence."

The flurry of movement is instantaneous. The men pull out wands at the precise same moment, a dance that they had perfected long ago; it leads them back to dusty corridors and moving staircases, back to school grounds and the raucous sound of laughter, elbows nudging at ribs in delight and fingers pointing at the levitating body of Severus Snape one summers day.

Sirius rolls back a shoulder, his wand arm, limbering up for the fight, a motion as familiar to Snape as his own - he braces his feet firmly on the ground, wand outstretched, ready to spring into action at the intake of a breath, or the twitch of an eye. When Sirius next speaks, his voice is barely a whisper, deadly and quiet, the promise of a threat.

"I'll do it, Snivellus, I'll curse you in this very house. Give me a reason."

"Don't be ridiculous, Black, you're all bark and no teeth as ever, I see. You're a no good layabout, happy to lie back and let the grown ups do the hard work for you. Tell me, what's it like to have all this time on your hands? Been missing your friends at Azkaban?"

"You know, " Sirius says through clenched teeth. "I don't believe I need this wand. The satisfaction of punching your smarmy face with my own hand will do more for me than a quick jinx ever could."

"How very like you, to engage in something as unsophisticated as muggle duelling. Any fool can swing an arm."

Sirius' laughs without humour and raises an eyebrow in defiance, backed up by a dare in his eyes. "Oh really? Why don't you give it a try then, you git - "

"What's going on here?!" 

Sirius doesn't need to look to know that Remus is standing in the doorway, face undoubtedly agog at the scene playing out before him. Snape, however, risks a darting glance to their interrupter, eyes narrowing in a gesture which sends Sirius' blood boiling into a frenzy. He knows that Remus has just offered himself up as bait.

"Ah, look Black, the werewolf has come to save your skin."

Remus blinks at Snape's words, doing his best to look as if they were not spoken as if a slur. His eyes flicker between the two men, apparent in his concern.

"Now, I don't know what's happened here but why don't we all just sit down so we can talk this through like civilised - "

"The werewolf, talking about civility. Will wonders never cease?" Snape quips, his wand still aimed squarely at Sirius' chest.

Sirius blanches, his breathing laborious, "Shut your mouth, Snivellus."

"How amusing, so attached to your little pet."

"I'm warning you, one more word!" Remus has rushed forward, his arms wrapping tight around Sirius' resisting torso. "Let me go, Remus!"

Snape stares at Sirius' face, at the beet red flush along his cheeks and the too bright eyes, the veins protruding from his strained neck. His lips twist up into a mocking smile and delivers the final blow, revelling in the delicious moment when he can see Sirius crack.

"Temper temper, we don't want to end up back in Azkaban, do we?"

"GET OFF, REMUS! I'M GOING TO KILL HIM, I'M GOING TO - "

Remus is fighting to hold onto him now, hands clasped together at Sirius' chest as he desperately tries to throw him off, "Sirius - stop, please! He wants this, don't you see? This is exactly what he wants!"

"Listen to your master, Black, be a good boy." Snape sneers, flashing yellow teeth in a smirk at the increased struggle between Sirius and Remus. He raises his wand a little higher, getting ready for when he breaks free.

Somewhere above, there's a thump of something heavy hitting the floor, starting up the screams of the portrait again, then the sounds of hurried footfall along the corridor as the person rushes to rectify the error. They can hear several people approaching, feet hitting the stairs that lead to the kitchen. It's only a matter of a few more seconds but Sirius is still trying to escape Remus' hold.

"Wotcher! I'm really sorry, Sirius, but you should probably move that umbrella stand away from the door - "

Nymphadora Tonks stops to gape at Remus holding onto the bucking Sirius for dear life, to the armed Snape with his wand in the air, her purple eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. Behind her, members of the Order of the Phoenix halt mid-conversation, led by a furious Minerva McGonagall.

"Now, really!" McGonagall seethes, staring from one man to the next. "For god's sake, Severus, put that thing down immediately."

Reluctantly, Snape lowers his wand and stows it away in his cloak. McGonagall's nostrils flare as she points a quivering finger at his vacated seat, ordering him to sit. He follows her instructions, though he leers at Sirius as he returns to the table.

"I expect more of grown men. My first years don't cause me half as much grief as you two do. Kindly release Mr Black, Remus, I think he's quite finished." she demands, imposing as ever despite her muggle state of dress. "Albus will be most displeased with the pair of you, he was rather hoping you would put aside your differences, for the sake of our cause, but I can see now that it was an obscene stretch of his judgement."

Sirius, volatile and embarrassed, mutters darkly under his breath.

"I heard that, Sirius! It doesn't matter who started the wretched thing, the fact is that neither of you can be trusted to be in the same room without absurd, childish instances occurring! Must I ask you to wait outside while we conduct our meeting, or are you ready to act your age again?"

"I can behave myself." Sirius mumbles, straightening his shirt and shooting Remus a half apologetic look, refusing to look beyond his own feet, not wanting to give Snape further satisfaction. He has to resist against calling Minerva McGonagall 'Professor', feeling very much as if he is back at school.

"Good. I don't want to have to remind you of this again, Sirius. Nor you Severus!" McGonagall adds, shifting her disapproving glare to the sullen man behind her. "Really, brawling as if this is the Hog's Head and not the headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix."

The other members of the Order, silent observers up until now, hurry to take their own places at the table, split between secretive smiles of amusement to their neighbours and suffering eye rolls of disparagement. Tonks, mind still preoccupied on the prior episode, trips into the large cauldron hanging above the fire, garnering heavy groans from all in the room, and an exasperated shake of the head from McGonagall. Remus, ever polite, rushes to help her from the floor, earning himself a string of apologies and a beaming, slightly flushed, smile.

Needless to say, there was a closer eye kept on Sirius Black and Severus Snape whenever they happened to cross paths.


	9. The Stubby Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.
> 
> Mischief Managed.

Sirius emerges from the fireplace, coughing and spluttering in his haste to retreat. He remains kneeling, staring intently into the fire, as if awaiting the stubby hand to reach out and grab him.

He had been talking to Harry, Ron and Hermione about places for their Defence Against the Dark Arts group to convene when he sensed something - a distinct flurry of movement coming towards him. He had even saw it; a bejewelled hand, fat fingers swatting the air, emerging from the soot stained walls of the fireplace and groping for him before he found the presence of mind to pull out before it took hold.

It was Dolores Umbridge, he is sure of it. How had it never occurred to him before now that she would be keeping tabs on Harry Potter, through all methods of communication? It certainly isn't beneath her.

His faces screws up in anger, realising that this is now just another way of cutting him off from Harry. Sirius curses the foul woman for her meddling ways, her insatiable desire to catch Harry in the act of talking with him and the greediness of her misplaced power. It is as if the whole world is at pains to cram him into a box and be done with it.

He wishes there is a way to speak with Harry freely, without forever looking over his shoulder or worry about intercepted owls...and maybe there is!

"Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid." he mutters as he flies up the stairs, heading for his bedroom. "How could you forget?!"

He'd never thought of it until now, which he finds astounding considering the use he got out of it with James during their years at Hogwarts. He could have avoided this entire debacle if only he'd remembered it earlier. Sirius chastises himself for the error up all the flights of stairs, mindful to be quiet as he passes the room where Remus is sleeping. The last thing he needs is a lecture on breaking rules from Remus.

"Now," he says under his breath, staring hopelessly about his dark room. "Where ARE you?"

Sirius isn't sure where to start. Perhaps he should have listened to Remus last week and at least tried to clear out some of the clutter in here; he can hear Remus' suggestion as if he is speaking it out loud.

"You might feel better with a - uh - fresher bedroom."

"What's wrong with my room?" he'd asked, affronted. "I like it this way!"

And he does, truly, but maybe for the sake of practicality in the future, he should organise the chaos when he next has the opportunity. He musn't let Remus know about it though, so as to avoid the imminent reserved smugness that Sirius actually listened to him for once. 

He begins his search as quietly as he can, moving items one at time, rummaging beneath his bed and finding nothing but a transfigured Quaffle that used to be a grapefruit - the ball had long caved in and was now giving off an rather digusting sour smell - and a couple of large spiders that scuttle away as soon as the light from his wand touches them.

Unfortunately, the peace doesn't last for long.

Soon, he's hauling his wardrobe across the room to check behind it, thinking perhaps the mirror had fallen into the crack between the wardrobe and the wall years ago - no such luck. He tries the same trick with his desk, his chest at the foot of his bed but still nothing. He's beginning to think maybe he lost it long ago, or threw it out the moment of James' death.

Remus catches him hoisting his mattress from his four poster bed the muggle way, having lost his wand among the ripped magazines and old shirts which he's thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. He's only aware that he's being watched when a beam of light shines at the back of his head, casting his silhouette onto the upturned mattress.

"Sirius, what in the name of Merlin are you _doing?!_ Do you have any idea what time it is?" 

When Sirius turns, the mattress lands with a soft thump and scatters dust particles into the air, and he finds Remus framed in the doorway, his lit wand held out before him and his tattered dressing gown not quite pulled taut enough to hide the tartan pyjamas underneath.

Sirius grins at the pyjamas and Remus' mussed up hair, "I don't seem to be wearing a watch, Moony. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"It's half past one in the morning! You should be sleeping, not - not - well, whatever it is that you _are_ doing!"

"Ah yes. You see, I had a bit of a problem. No, don't worry - just a trifling thing, nothing to lose sleep over, Moony." he adds when Remus nearly drops his wand. The light dips for a second. "So I thought I'd tip my room upside down to find those mirrors James and I used at school."

"You're what? Sirius - what exactly happened?" 

The glow from the wand seems to age Remus' face by twenty years. Sirius feels a stab of remorse for waking up his friend and sets out to put him at rest, although he knows that Remus can be just as determined as he is when he wants to be.

"Really, don't worry your little wolfie head over it."

Remus sighs, "Sirius."

"Oh, fine. I almost got caught by Umbridge in the fireplace talking to Harry."

Sirius ducks his head the moment the words are out, pretending to search in his pillowcase to avoid seeing Remus' reaction - he can hear him making some kind of noise, almost identical to choking. 

"Umbridge? Dolores Umbridge?" Remus finally hisses, spitting out the name like poison. "Are you telling me Dolores Umbridge nearly caught you?"

Head still in the pillowcase, Sirius nods, then realises that Remus can't see him do that. "On my knees, as well. How humiliating."

"This isn't funny, Sirius!" 

"I wanted to talk to Harry - "

"And you deliberately went behind my back. You knew you shouldn't be doing it. This could have been catastrophic, Sirius."

Sirius throws down the pillowcase onto the bed and promptly joins it. He stares up at the canopy of his four poster and lets his head fall to the side, picking at the threadbare blanket.

"I'm just so sick of being in this house, Remus. You don't have - you have no idea. When I talk to Harry - give him advice and just, well, just talk to him - I can almost pretend that I have a purpose here." Sirius says, throwing an arm over his face. His voice comes out muffled when he next speaks. "And it's - it's like having James back, only a little. Is that terrible?"

Remus stares at the crumpled heap of Sirius Black, from the tangled hair down to his pointed in feet curled an inch above the floor. He had been planning on making Sirius suffer, not for long but enough for him to regret waking him up in the middle of the night, but he doesn't feel his heart is in it anymore.

He is completely sorry for Sirius.

"Merlin's Beard - " Remus huffs in defeat, covering the bedroom in three strides to reach the bed. He stretches a hand up to the top of the canopy and searches along the surface, fingers probing through years worth of dust until he feels the smoothness of a handle. "You told me about hiding the mirrors on top of your bed during the holidays to keep them safe, in case your mother came snooping. It was only after you...moved out that you realised you'd left them behind and you got quite upset over it. James called you a - forgive me - a sentimental prat."

Without ceremony, he pulls down the mirror and its twin and hands them silently to Sirius, casually brushing the dust from his dressing gown.

Sirius is dumbfounded, "How did you possibly remember that?"

Remus is glad it's too dark for Sirius to see the stain of red work its way across his cheeks and forehead. He's secretly pleased with himself for surprising Sirius.

"These things...stick. Just don't use the Floo Network again. You never know who's watching."

"Moony, I don't know what I'd do without you."

Remus smiles, although he's already turning to leave so Sirius can't see it. He lingers by the door to watch Sirius hunched over the mirrors, inspecting them for damage and prays that this will stave off his desolation.

"Just don't wake me up again."


	10. Christmas Tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.
> 
> Mischief Managed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! To celebrate, here's a chapter set around Christmas!

Remus is out, away - god knows where, on business for the Order. He's been turning up at the most unconventional of times; three in the morning when everyone but Sirius is sound asleep, other days he's arrived just before breakfast - weary but cheerful to be back, always throwing Sirius a tired smile, some nights dragging his feet into the sitting room as the clock chimes ten and dropping heavily into his favourite armchair, gratefully taking the cup of tea Sirius wordlessly holds out for him.

Sirius has been alert and waiting the moment he steps through the door, every time. He's grown to be dependent on Remus, clingy to the point where he is certain his younger self would roll his eyes and shudder with embarrassment, _"Get a grip, Black, you need to pull yourself together, man."_

He can hear the chatter of his guests - The Weasley's, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, usually joined by members of the Order flitting in and out - from below, the noisy clatter of a house in occupation. He knows it won't be like this for long, the Christmas holidays are drawing to a close and soon, they will all be gone.

When his mood threatens to ruin the Christmas spirit, he takes himself upstairs to sit with Buckbeak in the master bedroom, which he likes much better now that a magical creature has taken up residence within. It's almost unrecognisable since the days of his childhood; there are deep gouges in the wall and floor alike, a pile of bones from ferrets and rats in the corner, a bag leaking blood into the carpet beside it. It nearly makes him smile, just imagining how his mother would have reacted. 

Buckbeak flaps his wings in agitated boredom, the breeze stirring up Sirius' hair. He knows that this house is not the ideal place for a hippogriff to be and he feels altogether responsible.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, reaching out for Buckbeak's feathery head. "It's my fault you're cooped up in here. It's not been fun, has it, being on the run?"

Buckbeak tilts his head and leans further in so Sirius can scratch his neck better, eyes half closed in lazy satisfaction. He ponders briefly over finding someone to take Buckbeak away from here, that at least one of them should be able to escape and experience the patter of rain or the kiss of the wind again, but he is too selfish to entertain the notion for long. Without Buckbeak, he wouldn't know what he would do.

Somewhere on the stairs, he hears a crash and then the furtive apologies of Tonks mingling with the moaning of his mother's portrait, the uneven clunking of Moody's wooden leg as he goes off to draw the curtains again and quiet the painting.

In Sirius' hand - the one not absently patting Buckbeak on the neck - he holds a crumpled letter, read through countless times. 

He's looked at it enough to memorise the entirety of it but he catches himself skimming through the paragraphs again, just to see the looping - practiced to the point of perfection - handwriting. It is one of Remus' quirks; he has such little self control over himself as a werewolf that every other aspect in his life is met with a demanding need to master. Sirius knows the writing well, he had watched Remus scribble words onto parchment over and over until his hand cramped, not stopping until he was pleased with the result. He can remember teachers praising Remus on his disciplined handwriting, never realising the cost or the reasoning.

Sirius smooths out the letter, holding it so that it may catch the flickering light of a candle nearby. The poor quality parchment turns near-transparent from the light and Sirius can see his fingers through it as he reads.

__

Padfoot,  


I can't divulge exactly what I'm up to but I'm sure I'll tell you everything when I arrive back home. You'll delight at the knowledge of whom I am paired with - here's a hint: he's been trying to flog me a silver wristwatch, of which he is determined to persuade me once belonged to Godric Gryffindor. A WRISTWATCH, Padfoot, and silver at that - I know better than to be offended. I very much doubt they had such a contraption in that particular period yet my accomplice swears on Merlin that it's a genuine article. 

Good grief, surely they were still using sundials in Gryffindor's time? Or the very least, an astronomical clock - I can't imagine he could strap one of those to his wrist, do you?

I hope you are well. I want you to know that I will be back before the holidays are over and I have with me a late Christmas present for you - no, it's not the confounded and highly questionable wristwatch, though I know from seeing it that you'd be very taken with such a timepiece - and from THAT little chat we had in the early hours of the morning, I know very well that you're in sore need of one. Perhaps I may enquire after it, for your sake, and our dear associate will sell it onto me for an extortionate (in his eyes, reasonable) price. 

Padfoot, do try and enjoy this time for festivity, won't you? I know how you can be and I can picture you clearly, sulking in your parent's old room with your feathered friend and a bag of dead animals for company. I know very well who is visiting and you should be with them. Go on, submerge yourself in conversation and drown in yuletide merrymaking!

Please try and for heaven's sake, do take care.

Yours,

It's signed off with a moon, undoubtedly an attempt to cheer him up and Sirius' heart swells at the sight of it, if only for a moment. He's heartened to know that Remus will be back soon but it isn't enough, not nearly enough, for him to shirk this ill feeling that has been creeping up on him for days now. 

It used to be different when James were alive. Sirius had none of his current neediness and reliance on Remus, though he was still prone to days of sullen moodiness over the simplest things; a bad night's sleep, rainy mornings before a quidditch match, seeing Peter spill his whole mug of tea over the table at breakfast. It was the little things that ground away at him and inevitably, he would explode in a fit of dark rage and lie fitfully on his bed as James made wisecracks about his seemingly sudden change of temperament - "Come on, Padfoot, you made Pete cry, even you have to admit you went off like a Howler." - until the episode faded and he was left feeling foolish. 

Sirius tips his head back against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut, suddenly recalling the memory of one of those bad days which he thought he had long forgotten.

It had been a miserable Monday. He'd already woken up to thunder crackling outside the dormitory window, some snotty first year had taken the last bit of bacon even as Sirius' fork was reaching out for it and then he'd had to leap onto a stool when Remus' poor potion making in Double Potions ended up with his cauldron leaking Shrinking Solution onto the floor, causing the stool to shrink and Sirius to end up almost in the sticky residue. He'd been handling it all rather well until he had the run in with Snape before lunch. After the obligatory exchange of heated words, a spell smacked him right in the face, making his hair sprout out faster and longer than it had before. There had been so much that he'd had to scoop it all up in his arms and carry it to get to the Hospital Wing, accidentally ensnaring a couple of third years in the grown out mane on his way.

James had thought it hilarious. He'd jinxed Snape back, of course, and gave him a terrific set of bat ears as compensation but he had to admit, seeing Sirius get tangled up in his own hair was too good an opportunity to miss.

"Hey, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" he'd called, cackling at the stormy expression of Sirius' face and leaping out of the way of a bedpan winging its way towards him.

Sirius had ignored James for the rest of the day, seeing it as a betrayal of their friendship that he could find a spell which Snape had cast, of all people, funny. James, so rarely wrong-footed, had misjudged the mood tremendously. He had been sorry, then angry, then sorry again by day four of Sirius' stoic silence.

"Look, mate, I didn't know it bothered you this much. I didn't mean it, okay? Will you just talk to me again?" he had pleaded at lunch when Sirius had asked Remus to pass the peas, despite the fact the bowl was sitting directly in front of James. "Moony, help a man out?"

No matter what any of them could do or say, Sirius was unflappable. It reached week two of Sirius indirectly talking to James before he decided to resolve the issue once and for all.

They were in the courtyard, waiting for the bell to signal the start of lessons. Sirius had dragged Remus away to the other side, leaving James with Peter, who was certain that this was the end of the Marauders and had been teary eyed ever since the hair incident. James was biding his time though, he knew exactly what to do and was willing to do what it took for his best friend to talk to him again. He glanced across the courtyard to Remus, who subtly nodded and motioned at the arrival of the key participator - admittedly, an unwitting one.

Severus Snape was marching across the courtyard, head bent down so low that his chin was on his chest, a bag crammed full of books on one shoulder and about seven more in his hands. James took a deep breath, clapped a confused Peter on the back for luck and shouted out over their gathered cohorts.

"OI SNIVELLUS!"

Snape's reaction was immediate, as it usually was when James Potter and his friends were about. The books fell from his arms and he threw off the hindering weight of his bag, whipping out a wand as the witnesses darted out of the way. They knew the drill by now - Snape and Potter would always put on a good show.

Sirius had looked up at the commotion, a slender eyebrow raised with curiosity. Beside him, Remus had turned a blind eye, choosing to bury his face in A Standard Book of Spells, the visible portion of his forehead pink with guilt and shame. James moved through the crowd and out into the cleared space, eyes zipping sideways to see a furious Lily Evans glaring from the sidelines. Interestingly enough, James' wand remained firmly in his pocket.

"Come on then, you slimy git. You have a shot - hit me." James yelled, spreading his arms out to make himself a larger target.

Snape was bewildered, along with every other student. Why was James Potter not shooting a stunning spell at Snape? Where was the theatrical flourish of a wand? Where was the jaunty smile and wicked gleam in his eyes?

James was getting impatient, he could see Sirius rapidly losing attention.

"Oh, for the love of - do I have to do everything myself?" he muttered, pulling out the wand and pointing it directly at Snape. This produced the desired effect.

He could scarcely breathe before he was flung backwards onto the paved floor of the courtyard, he could already feel the swelling of his nose as it grew twice its regular size. He struggled to sit up, accepting the helping hand of Peter, and shot Snape a thumbs up.

"Great - exactly what I wanted. I'll get you back for that later, Snivellus." he called, although it came out nasally. He shooed his opponent away. 

Snape was torn between bafflement and hatred but everyone else had shrugged their shoulders and declared the fight over with, going back to to resume their conversations. Only Lily Evans continued to watch the scene play out, though James was, for once, ignorant to her.

Pushing off a bumbling Peter, he snaked his way through the courtyard - his nose was large enough for him to hardly see past it, he was surprised his glasses were still on his face - and stopped in front of what he hoped was Sirius. 

"That was...different." Remus offered, a faint trace of amusement in his voice.

"Sirius - Sirius? Is that you?" James asked, grasping someone's shoulders. "I hope it's you. Look, I just want to be friends again. Say anything you want, laugh at me, wet your pants laughing at the sight of me but please, please, talk to me again because these last two weeks have been the most wretched - no offence, Moony, Wormtail - of my existence. Pranks haven't been the same without you. I - I've been doing SCHOOL WORK, Padfoot. I'm turning into Moony - again, no offence. So...so can we just be friends again? Please? Should I get Snape to curse me again? Because I will, anything. Just talk to me."

He finished a little breathless, waiting and hating the silence that was dragging out. The bell rang for lessons.

"I thought...maybe this would make things better." he said miserably as the courtyard slowly started emptying.

Then he heard laughing - specifically, Sirius' barking laugh.

"Firstly, that's not me you're holding, it's some first year Ravenclaw - you should probably unhand the poor mite. He looks bloody terrified."

Relieved that Sirius had finally spoken to him for the first time in two weeks, he weakly chuckled and obligingly released the first year, who audibly squeaked and ran away, presumably hoping to never see James Potter again. A hand dropped onto his shoulder.

"Secondly," Sirius said, a smile in his voice. "When should we set the wedding? That was quite a proposal. You didn't have to fall apart to prove how much I mean to you, mate."

"You're my spellotape, Pad, you hold me together."

"Merlin's Beard." Remus mumbled although he was half laughing as he said it. Beside him, Peter was sobbing with relief.

"You're the dragon to my pox." Sirius replied.

"The fizzing in my whizzbee."

"You're - "

"Both driving me insane." Remus interjected, happy for his friends but conscious of their increasing tardiness. "Come on, let's take James to the Hospital Wing to deflate his enormous nose and get to Transfiguration before McGonagall puts us all in detention." 

It had been the longest Sirius had ever gone without speaking to James, fourteen days of wasted time in Sirius' opinion now. He regrets all those precious seconds neglecting James, for being, in Remus' words at the time, an 'unmitigated moron.'

He reads through Remus' letter once more, the words jumping from the parchment like a warning. To enjoy himself, to spend time with Harry. How can he sit up here and barricade himself from the rest of the group, bemoaning his lost time with James when he was doing the very same thing with Harry, right this moment. He can practically sense the bristle of Remus' disappointment.

He pats Buckbeak on the head and tosses him a rat, standing to straighten his clothes. Before he steps out into the corridor, he folds up the letter and slips it into his pocket, making a mental note to buy Remus a very large bar of chocolate in gratitude for his, quite frankly, always wise advice.


	11. Floo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.
> 
> Mischief Managed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sob* this is the penultimate chapter. I've made the line taken directly from Rowling's book bold, just so there's no confusion. As I said when I started this fic, the quotes are there for the sake of showing you how my story leads in/follows on from her own.

Harry Potter's head turns back to face Sirius and Remus, the two men clustered around the hearth of the fire within Grimmauld Place. It had taken them by surprise, Remus in particular, to see the urgent faced Harry asking to talk with his godfather; he'd ran full pelt up the flights of stairs, clutching a stitch in his side to encroach upon a startled Sirius halfway through searching for Kreacher, gasping about Harry's head in the fire place. 

**"I'd better go!" Harry says hurriedly, his head disappearing with a pop.**

Sirius stares at the spot where his godson's head has vanished, watching the flickering flames with unease and yes, even a hint of pride. No doubt Harry had broken countless school rules just to contact him, to enquire after his father's past, to ask in a pained voice what exactly his mother had seen in James Potter.

"Personally speaking, I believe that's your influence. I wonder whose fireplace he's using." Remus mumbles, as if reading Sirius' thoughts. A crease appears between his eyes in puzzlement and worry. "You don't suppose he's broken into a teacher's office, do...you..."

Sirius glances up from the fire to see the panic in Remus' face. "What is it?"

"Has it occurred to you that the only fireplace that would allow the access of the Floo Network without being monitored is the one which belongs to Dolores Umbridge?" 

Still on his knees, face upturned to look at Remus, the realisation of what he has said hits Sirius. The laugh comes slow at first, a stuttering breath of disbelief, then building with hearty acceptance, until he's wheezing his husky, haltering laugh that resembles the pitch of a canines bark.

"Well, I hardly think that this is something to be laughed at." Remus points out, turning his gaze away from Sirius and into the flames. "Harry could get into grave trouble if Dolores Umbridge has anything to do with it."

"Oh, lighten up, Moony! It's nothing that I wouldn't have done, nor James, nor yourself! If we were still at Hogwarts, we'd have loved nothing better than to get one over on that old toad!"

"On the contrary, I would have done no such thing. I know the line between pranks and lunacy, thank you very much. Umbridge is more than just your average teacher, Sirius, she has connections with the Ministry - she can virtually do as she pleases. Harry shouldn't be getting one over on Umbridge, he should be focusing on picking up Occlumency again."

"By Merlin, Remus! What about the way Snape treated Harry? Even you must see that it was wrong the way Snivellus acted! I want Harry to practice at it but imagine having to put up with that prat for lessons!"

"Well, no, I can't pretend that I'm pleased with the way Severus has reacted. Occlumency is absolutely vital for Harry, he must apply himself - "

"How would you feel if Snivellus kept attacking your mind, Remus? Can't have been a barrel of laughs for Harry, what, with that great beak of a nose sniffing about his memories! If only I could get at him, he'd be sorry."

Remus flinches at the sharpness to Sirius' tone, always awkward and clumsy around confrontation. "Now, we must put ourselves in Severus' shoes, he feels humiliated - "

"I've often wondered at your tolerance of him, Lupin, but now I know why. You have this insatiable need for people to like you!" Sirius snaps, quashing the spark of guilt he feels at the flash of hurt on Remus' face. "Harry is ten times the wizard Snape could ever be."

"Lupin now, is it? Since when have you ever called me Lupin?" Remus mumbles plaintively. "Not Moony or Remus, not even Wolf-Man?"

He edges a step closer to Sirius' crouched figure at the fire, ignoring the tension between his shoulders and the whiteness of his knuckles from clenched fists against the flagstone. He drops a tentative hand on Sirius' back and gives his friend a chance to shake him off; when he doesn't, he employs his soft voice, though he hardly needs to reach for it - it comes all on its own accord.

"Look, I wasn't doubting Harry's abilities, he's more than capable of handling Severus. I've seen just how brilliant a wizard he is from first hand experience. They'd be proud of him, Sirius, they truly would be. I only think he doesn't understand exactly how important protecting his mind is! I especially don't want him to get on the wrong side of Umbridge just so he can talk with us."

"The wrong side of Umbridge!" Sirius cries hoarsely, laughing weakly. "Why, Remus, the day Umbridge clapped eyes on Harry was the day he got on the wrong side of her! He's been trying to rightfully discredit Fudge's claims about Voldemort, that can't have gone down well with her. You should know better than to say that, after everything she's done to discriminate against werewolves."

Remus sighs and kneels beside Sirius at the fire, messing with a splinter in his wand to avoid looking at his friend - a hiss of hot air shoots from the tip and he hastily stows it away in his robes after hearing a gentle tut come from Sirius.

"Be that as it may, Harry should try to keep out of her way. I shudder to think what she would do if she caught Harry using her fireplace. There has to be an easier way for him to contact you."

"Yeah, I - hold on." Sirius says, going still for a second before springing into action, his face alight with excitement. "I just remembered."

"What?" 

"I'll be right back!"

"Where are you going?!" Remus calls after him, watching the hem of his robes whip out of sight.

Sirius scrambles up the staircase, barely even able to control himself and sneak past his mother's portrait, and continuing the rest of the way in a mad dash. He smashes into his own room and hurries to the battered desk, rummaging around in the top drawer and throwing aside scrunched up balls of parchment and ancient quills.

"Merlin's Beard, why did I put it so far in!"

After a moment of searching the depths of the desk - it had been enchanted upon its creation to hold much more than its appearance would suggest - he produces the small handheld mirror, victorious in his discovery.

Holding it at arm's length, he speaks slowly and clearly, "Harry - Harry Potter."

Nothing happens. He tries a few more times and yet the only thing he can see in the mirror's dark surface is what appears to be an old grey sock and the corner of a school book.

He doesn't hear when Remus moves into the doorway. He is transfixed upon the mirror, still calling Harry's name, willing his godson to find it and speak with him. If only he'd remembered the mirror while Harry was in the fireplace.

"Come on! Where are you, Harry?"

"Sirius, is everything okay?"

Sirius groans and puts the mirror down on the desk, turning to Remus dejectedly. 

"I gave him the other one so he could talk to me whenever he wanted, remember? The one I used to give to James? It seems to be at the bottom of his trunk though. I thought maybe he'd keep it somewhere nearby, in case he needed me."

"Don't think too much on it, Sirius. It's been a hectic year for Harry - he's had to deal with the Prophet lying about him almost every day and Occlumency lessons with Severus, not to mention it being his O.W.L year. Let's not forget he's been running that Defence Against the Dark Arts group behind Umbridge's back too, which you should have discouraged him from, may I add. The mirror has slipped his mind, that's all."

"You're probably right...Wolf-Man."

"Oh, that's very funny, Sirius." Remus says, smiling despite the sarcasm in his words. "Here - "

He waves his wand and a practical, if a little worn and chipped tea set appears on the desk before them; he lifts the lid on the teapot and aims a jet of steaming water into it, glancing at Sirius.

"How about crumpets, too? I think we have some in the pantry, it'd be no trouble magicking them up."

"Are you suggesting I eat away my problems, Moony?"

Remus' eyes crinkle as he grins, "It's always worked for me." 

"Well, if it's worked for you..." Sirius concedes, waving a hand at Remus to proceed.

In an instant and the tap of a wand, a matching set of plates and a small pile of crumpets materialise beside the tea set. After brief contemplation, a butter dish arrives with a pop to join them.

"Right, three sugars?" Remus asks politely, careful to add only a drop of milk to Sirius' cup. He's much more liberal with his own, pouring until it's more milk than tea.

They eat on the floor of Sirius' room, cross-legged and wiping oily fingers on their trousers. It seems to lift Sirius' spirits, even if it is only marginally. Sitting here in Grimmauld Place as they are, Remus can't imagine how he got by without Sirius during his time in Azkaban; he recalls the lonely nights spent in his humble cottage, only able to recount the time he was happiest - at Hogwarts, with his friends - by himself, the isolation tarring his memories with sticky heartache that wouldn't rub off. Sirius is his second chance, as perhaps he is Sirius', to renew those memories with the sweet nostalgia they deserve.

"Do you - " Sirius starts, hesitating over the next bite of a crumpet. Butter drips over his fingers and down his wrist. "Do you think we _should_ be ashamed? Of the way we were at school? The way we were with...with Snape."

Remus lowers his tea cup and stares at Sirius; he sees the conflict in his face, at the want to avoid this conversation altogether but also the need to let it out. He knows Sirius is torn between his hatred for Snape and the way Harry thinks of him.

"Padfoot," he says quietly. He's not as free at using his friend's childhood nickname as Sirius is with his and it usually only comes out at times of tender intimacy or earnestness. Sirius' ears prick at the name and he lifts his head in response. "You said it yourself to Harry - we were fifteen years old, we were idiots. You're not a bad person. You can't judge yourself on what you did twenty years ago."

"Hearing Harry talk about James that way though, from seeing only one of the times we got mixed up with Snape. I have a lot to be ashamed over, Remus. I've done worse than what he saw." he says, pained, rubbing the back of his neck. He's lost his appetite and throws the half eaten crumpet onto the plate - he can feed it to Buckbeak later.

"The fact that you feel this way at all shows the sort of person you are. I'm just as guilty as you are, not once did I step in to stop you or James. If we all constantly punished ourselves over things we did in our childhood, we'd never be able to live with ourselves. All we can do is admit our mistakes and try to be better people in the future."

"I don't want that to be Harry's impression of me...or of James."

"All we can do is assure Harry that his father grew to be one of the most considerate people we knew. Harry never had the chance to know James but we can help him understand who his parents were, warts and all. James wouldn't want Harry to have some grand, emblazoned vision of him - he'd want him to know everything. Yes, even his faults, Sirius. It's our duty to James and Lily."

Sirius only nods half-heartedly and Remus does not know what else he can say to comfort - Sirius is famed for his dark moods. Remus, feeling uncharacteristically bold, decides to throw caution to the wind and reaches out to pull Sirius into him, awkwardly winding an arm around his shoulders to tentatively pat him on the back. He gets a face full of hair and at first, Remus frets at being pushed away when he senses the sudden stillness in Sirius' posture. He starts to think about moving away, mouth already working to rush out an apology, for misinterpreting the moment.

Then he feels arms wrap around his torso and the tickle of a sniff thick with snot against his neck.

Less inept with physical contact than his friend, Sirius settles into the embrace almost immediately. He'd forgotten what this was like, having no barriers for Remus to shove against, the way they used to be at school. It was different from how Sirius had been with James - there had been plenty of hugs, to be sure; one armed affairs, constricting-from-behind ones that made breakfast put in an unwelcome surprise reappearance mid-lesson, brief claps on the back accompanied by a jubilant ruffle of the hair after a well executed prank, all encompassing bear-hugs reserved for the euphoria of a quidditch victory and the birth of Harry. But Remus makes it something else - something with more meaning and purpose because these embraces have always been less forthcoming. They are something to respect.

It seems an age since he has experienced contact like this with another person. He craves a closeness to other people, something taken from him in his cramped cell at Azkaban, and he has feared that it is an ability long since gone. He still fears because, despite his bond with Harry and being reunited with Remus, even though the other members of the Order have enfolded him into the group once again, he feels completely alone.

He clings to Remus a little tighter.

"This just gets harder all the time, Moony. This house, this _life_. I - I think I'm starting to go mad in here."

Remus places a hand against the back of Sirius' neck and tries to lean a little closer; it's a lot more complicated than consoling Sirius at school. There are too many limbs and not enough room, too many unspoken feelings and years old regrets.

"I know. Dumbledore is only trying to keep you - "

"Dumbledore doesn't care about me. I'm a nuisance, in the way. I'm as inconvenient and bothersome as a gnome in the garden." Sirius snipes.

"Come now, you know that isn't true. We all care about you, we _all_ worry."

"Just forget it. Forget I said anything."

Remus moves as if to pull away, to look at Sirius but Sirius holds firm, burying his face into a cardigan clad shoulder.

"No. Please. Please don't, Remus." he begs, because he knows that Remus will obey. He knows that Remus will do whatever he asks, approvingly or no, because that has always been their way.

With Remus' steady breathing in his ear, he knows that he will remain feeling this way for as long as he is kept inside 12 Grimmauld Place, until the Ministry ceases their hunt for him and declares him an innocent man; he knows that although he maintains hope, there's something deep down that wonders if he will even live to see the day.


	12. Before the Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogging Sirius Black's footsteps, from the events at the end of Goblet of Fire until his untimely demise in Order of the Phoenix. Follow his last year, from laying low at Lupin's to establishing headquarters for the Order to one very miserable Christmas indeed and everything in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this is the last chapter and I'm sad about it, I felt like this fanfic was my life for a good few months. Just constant writing non-stop every day.
> 
> However, all things must end so here's just one thing before this final chapter: everything in bold is Rowling's, just those several lines of dialogue. It'll make sense when you get to them but I take no credit for writing those bold lines whatsoever.
> 
> Thank you to those who have read this, I really appreciate that even some people stopped to look at my fanfic where no kissing is involved whatsoever (guys, I'm guilty of this too). I was 100% writing Sirius and Remus as a couple, I hope there was enough in there to even allude to this but I'm a big believer that relationships go beyond the physical. I wanted to show how much they lean on each other for emotional support; they make each other better, they're their best self when together - at least, this is what I was going for.
> 
> With that being said, for now, _Mischief Managed._

"Hey - hey, now!" Sirius says soothingly, carefully lifting Buckbeak's wing. He inspects it thoroughly with nimble fingers, certain that it has been broken - but how? 

Sirius had come upstairs to feed Buckbeak but had found him curled in the corner, glaring reproachfully as he entered. It had taken fifteen minutes to get him to bow back and even then, he did it hesitantly. Remus is leaning against the doorframe, keeping his distance to avoid Buckbeak further stress, the frown on his face lining it further.

"I don't understand - how can his wing be broken?" Sirius asks, nonplussed. "I wish we could get Hagrid here, I can't fix this fully. There's only so much I know about hippogriff care."

Remus, concerned, opens his mouth to reply but Tonks is suddenly grinding to a halt behind him, breathless and face shining from perspiration, pink hair sticking to her forehead.

"Sirius, you have to come - Snape is in the mirror, he says it's important. It's about Harry!"

In a heartbeat, Sirius is up and away, pausing only to turn to Tonks. "Stay here with Buckbeak, he's hurt."

He knows Remus is hurrying to keep up - Sirius is taking three steps at a time, cursing the stupid house for having so many staircases - and by the time they reach the drawing room, they're both panting loudly. Remus is clutching a stitch in his side and has to lean against the armchair for support, dabbing at his sweaty brow with a frayed sleeve.

Moody is already in the room, muttering under his breath to the sallow face of Snape set within the enchanted mirror. The drawing room is the only place light enough in the entire house to keep the mirror - if they'd hung it anywhere else, the person on the other end would see nothing but darkness.

Sirius approaches the mirror, staring urgently at Snape for the first time in his life.

"Sniv - uh, Snape. Tonks mentioned Harry? What's happened?!"

Snape's lips curl at the pleading in Sirius' voice and he takes evident delight in it. His voice drawls, slow and mocking. "Potter seems to think that the Dark Lord has you in his clutches. However, as I can clearly see, you're still cooped up in your hidey hole. Now where can he get such an impression from, I wonder?"

"Maybe if you didn't stop giving him Occlumency lessons, he wouldn't have seen anything!" he turns to appeal to Remus, now stood to attention at the armchair. "It has to be that, right? Voldemort has to be trying to trick him."

"As I was saying," Snape continues silkily, acting as if he hasn't heard Sirius. "I will go and assure Potter of your well-being. He was in the company of Dolores Umbridge the last I saw of him, it seemed to be an - ah - interesting predicament he has landed himself in."

Sirius' face goes blank for a moment, then his cheeks flush red. "He's with - she - what?!"

Snape turns his attention to Sirius, dark eyes narrowing. "How eloquent you are, Black."

"Now see here, Snape. You go find Harry and bring him to the mirror, I want to see him for myself."

"Tut tut, Black. Has no one taught you manners?"

Moody, quiet and watchful throughout the conversation, limps forward and stares directly into Snape's eyes.

"Do as he says, boy. You're wasting time - there's no telling what will happen if we don't get to Potter soon."

Snape's expression sours a little but he nods curtly and steps out of view.

It's impossible to say how long they wait for Snape to reappear, all Sirius knows is that he cannot relax until he sees Harry, unhurt and safe, for himself. He paces the room, floorboards creaking as he goes, while Remus stands by the window, chewing frantically at the inside of his cheek.

Sirius starts when a voice speaks out from the mirror, with words he does not want to hear.

"Potter has gone."

"WHAT!" Sirius cries, grasping the sides of the mirror as if he can climb through and throttle Snape himself. Remus moves closer and places a hand on his shoulder, murmuring in his ear, trying to calm him. "Where has he gone?!"

Snape glares at him, nostrils flaring, but he is aware of Moody standing just behind Sirius and addresses them slowly and clearly, with as much patience as he can muster.

"I suggest you gather members of the Order and head to the Ministry of Magic. Knowing Potter, he will have decided to take matters into his own incapable hands. I will search the Forbidden Forest on the slim chance he is still in the grounds, they were last seen passing Hagrid's hut and I have it from Draco Malfoy that there was mention of a secret weapon, no doubt a ruse to distract Dolores Umbridge over whom he was trying to communicate with in her fireplace."

"The Ministry of Magic?" Remus asks, unable to mask his own anxiousness, rubbing soothing circles on a now stunned Sirius' back.

"Yes. Potter's warning to me in Professor Umbridge's office seemed to imply that the Dark Lord was holding Black at the Ministry - in his own words, where _it_ was being kept. I have seen images of the Department of Mysteries from within his mind during Potter's inadequate Occlumency lessons with me - you should leave now, I fear Potter's stupidity knows no bounds."

"Yes, " Sirius says, coming out of his stupour, not even acknowledging Snape's jibe. "Yeah, we have to go right now - "

"Oh no, I don't think so, Black. You need to stay behind and inform Dumbledore what has happened. You'll be of more use that way." Snape says smirking, exposing yellow teeth. His eyes move to Moody, who is already making preparations to leave. "If my hunch is correct- and I cannot stress how frequently Potter is seized by these tiresome fits of heroism, I can guarantee he is on his way to London as we speak - you will need your best. The Dark Lord is cunning, it will be a trap for Potter."

Before any of them can speak another word, Snape's face leaves the mirror. Sirius rounds on Moody and Remus, the air of a man who has made his choice.

"I'm coming with you."

Remus is already shaking his head, "Sirius, no, it's - "

"Don't think for one second that I'm letting you go and save Harry without me! I'm coming, Remus. That's final." he snaps, eyes flashing as if daring them to oppose.

Moody appraises Sirius, both eyes fixed on him. He talks to Remus without taking his magical eye off Sirius once. "Can't keep him here any more, lad. I say he can do as he pleases. I'm letting Kingsley know, be ready to move in ten minutes."

Moody stumps out of the room, leaving the two friends in a stand off. Remus has the same frenzied helplessness on his face that he did when he learned that James, Sirius and Peter had discovered he was a werewolf - he looks cornered, his complexion alabaster, lips clamped together, shoulders quivering. Sirius thaws a little.

"Remus, I can't stay here - you know who I am, what I'm like." he says softly, reaching out to grasp Remus by the elbow, his fingers squeezing at the joint. "I can't sit here when Harry needs me."

Remus studiously stares off at the other end of the room, suddenly finding the gas lamp fixed to the wall fascinating. He's breathing hard through his nose; sharp, continuous snuffs, akin to the chuffing of a steam train. Sirius regards him, the heaving chest and too bright eyes and the jutted lip he gets when he's trying too hard not to cry, forcibly reminded of the jittery boy he was when they first met in their shared Gryffindor dormitory.

"I'm sorry, Moony." Sirius whispers. "I'm sorry I always let you down."

Remus' despairing laugh comes out as more of a gurgle, tinged with hysteria. He covers his face with shaky hands and talks to Sirius in a brittle voice, still unable to quite meet his eyes.

"You're a fool - a pigheaded, risk-taking, harebrained fool, but you've never let me down, Sirius. Not really. Not ever."

"Are you sure about that?" Sirius asks because, deep down, he's aching to know - whatever may happen, he needs to know that Remus means what he says. He needs to know that he has left Remus with far more than just childish school pranks and lingering embarrassment.

Remus laughs again, half a sob. "I'm so glad, Sirius. _So, so glad_ that I met you. You and James, you're the best thing to happen to me. More than I could ever say. You took a small, desperate, terribly lonely boy and made him feel worthy. You made me feel like I belonged."

Sirius manages a watery smile, a smile with no edges and all tenderness, just as Tonks bursts into the room.

"Moody told me we're leaving soon - I've tended to Buckbeak, it's not perfect but it'll do until we can get someone qualified to look at him. I - " she notices the rigidity of Remus' back, Sirius' fingers still somehow wrapped around his arm. "Did I - should I come back?"

Sirius flips on the switch, the cocksure facade he's displayed his entire life. He knows that Remus won't mind it, the jovial turn in his tone and the over exaggerated playfulness which he can pull from his depths as swiftly as one of those muggle magic tricks, the rabbit from a hat. Remus will be thankful for it, the chance to regain his composure without causing a scene.

"Nah, that's okay, Tonks. I was just telling Remus here that there's no time for a cup of tea before we leave."

"Oh - well, all right..."

As they wait for Moody to announce their departure, Sirius reflects - he supposes when one is heading into a fight, you can't help but think over the finer moments in life and there _are_ countless precious memories; sitting with his friends beside the lake at Hogwarts, successfully changing into a dog for the first time, James laughing through tears at Sirius' stunned expression when he was asked to be godfather,watching Harry play quidditch and the swell of pride he felt when he realised Harry was just as good as his father before him, Harry's delight at Sirius' short lived suggestion of living with him, overwhelming freedom on the back of Buckbeak as he soared away from Hogwarts. Harry treating him as if he's always been there. Harry taking him on with such enthusiasm and readiness, as James had before him. His friendship with Remus, reforged and almost as good as new. Remus...

It's true, his good memories have been few and far between, but the ones he has are of such a strong potency that he feels as if he could take on a hundred Dementors at once with them - he could take on every single guard at Azkaban, even. Sirius, despite all of his shortcomings and all of his past, has no regrets. Storming into the Ministry to save Harry feels like a privilege, a warmth spreading through him at the knowledge that he has someone to care for, to fight for. He would never think twice on the matter.

Moody returns, blue eye spinning in his head. "Come on, we're Apparating. No point taking precaution, we know what we're headed into."

They all step into the corridor and Sirius looks up at the house elf heads, a thought occurring to him.

"Wait, give me one minute!"

He runs to the top of the kitchen stairs and calls down, irritable and eager to leave. 

"Kreacher!"

From within the gloom, Kreacher's face peers up at his Master, face curled in an unpleasant grimace.

"Master has called Kreacher and Kreacher has - "

"Yes, I know all of that," Sirius cuts him off, waving a hand. "I order you to inform Albus Dumbledore where we have gone, as soon as he arrives. You're to tell him we're gone to the Ministry of Magic, to save Harry Potter. Tell him it's Voldemort and to come immediately."

The house elf convulses at the name of the dark wizard but bows without taking his round eyes from Sirius.

"Very well, Master. Kreacher shall - "

Sirius is already taking off, in his haste not catching the dark flicker of satisfaction upon the house elf's face as he retreats back into the shadows of the kitchen.

"Right, let's go."

Single file, they exit 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius without a backward glance. This is his first time outside of the house in months and he wishes he could savour it, the cool bite in the summer evening air. Moody is casting about the street, making sure the coast is clear.

"All right, " he grumbles, lining them up. "No one's looking so make it quick. We're meeting Kingsley at the Ministry. Apparate on the count of three, don't want to lose anyone on the way, see? Aim for the same place - the Atrium will do. Ready? One - two - three!"

Simultaneously, they spin on the spot, the ground beneath them falling away - Sirius enjoys even the dizzying travel of Apparation after all those stuffy months of monotony. He's full to the brim with a wayward energy, spinning into the Atrium at the Ministry with the same kind of excitement as a child on a school trip. Remus trips over the hem of his robes, stumbling upon his arrival and is steadied, surprisingly, by Tonks. She pinches his shoulder in what she must think is a comforting gesture but Remus is too preoccupied to feel it.

Kingsley is already there beside the golden fountain of magical beings and greets them solemnly, leaning in to Moody for a rushed breakdown of the situation. For the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place, Remus looks at Sirius.

His friend is scanning the room, his head zipping this way and that, as if he is trying to sniff out the Death Eaters. This seems like an important moment to Remus but he doesn't know what to do. He opens his mouth, trying to force out even one word but it's as if he has been hit with the Tongue-Tying spell.

"After me," Kinglsey calls just loud enough for them to hear, motioning to the group to follow his lead, making for the lifts.

Remus' heart is hammering in his chest and Sirius finally picks up on the panic behind Remus' eyes; he claps him on the back, unknowingly for the last time. When he looks back on this moment, Remus wishes he _had_ said something meaningful, or better yet told Sirius not to go at all. It haunts Remus, that clap on the back, the twitchy smile he offers Sirius in return and a grasp on his forearm so gentle it's almost vague. He has taken that last, fleeting contact with Sirius and stored it away with the rest of his mistakes, nestled painfully between James and Lily, and even his failings with Peter. There will never be a day, not for as long as he lives, that he does not feel them acutely, secure and bothersome between his rib cage and rooted within his very heart. 

All he does is watch. He watches the faces of his companions as the lift judders down to the Department of Mysteries; Moody, gnarled and steely, ready for the fight. Kingsley, calm and collected, a finger tapping a steady beat against his folded arms. Tonks, her pale heart-shaped face set, small lips silently mouthing out spells, accidentally sending a silvery mist shooting out the tip of the wand in her hand. And Sirius - Sirius is alight. He is animated, almost feverish in a way he hasn't been for years, Remus is certain of it. He can't stop staring at him.

The lift doors opens and Remus is washed over in a cold sweat - he knows he is a capable dueller but he fears for Sirius. He thinks of all the ways this could go wrong, even as they set off deeper into the Ministry to track down Harry and his friends, shivering against the coolness of the corridor.

They must be getting closer, they can hear screaming - an awful, unbridled keening. They quicken their pace, making for the doors, Sirius now white as a ghost.

Bursting through, they see them; Harry, his hand outstretched towards Lucius Malfoy, fingers wrapped around something orb-like. Malfoy is quick to react but Tonks is quicker; she aims a Stunning Spell right at him and from their position, Remus can see Harry dart away. He doesn't have to look around to know Sirius is fighting a furious path to get to Harry and Remus hurries into the battle, drawing his wand out in one smooth motion.

He loses track of what happens, for the most part; he witnesses Alastor Moody being overpowered by Dolohov, catches glimpses of Kingsley slashing his wand through the air at Rookwood, sees Tonks knocked unconscious from one of Bellatrix Lestrange's curses.

It takes a while until Remus finally locates Harry again; he's struggling to lift Neville, whose legs are flailing uncontrollably, they're both bloody and covered in sweat. From the corner of his eye, Lucius Malfoy is making towards them and he knows he won't get there in time but he tries anyway, cutting down Death Eaters in his path. He's relieved to see Harry sending Malfoy flying into the dais, which offers him the chance he needs to catch up.

He throws himself between them before Malfoy can send a spell their way.

 **"Harry, round up the others and GO!"** he shouts, pointing the wand at Malfoy, shielding Harry and Neville.

Remus fires a spell at the Death Eater, ducking just in time to miss a hex that would surely have got him square in the face, and leaps back up to spot Sirius duelling with Bellatrix. Of course he would go after her. Remus could groan with frustration for Sirius.

**"DUBBLEDORE!"**

That's when he hears it, the garbled and elated shout of Neville from somewhere behind him, announcing Dumbledore's arrival to the scene. Malfoy is already scurrying away at the news, many of the others following suit. Between the chaos of Death Eaters fleeing in every direction, Remus glances about the room, his eyes immediately drawn to the only two left fighting, apparently unaware of Dumbledore's appearance.

He isn't sure why he can't take his eyes off this particular pairing; perhaps he's caught on the manic, grinning face of Sirius, of seeing his friend revert into his seventeen year old self again, brought back to life in stunning definition from the thrill of the fight, of all things. Remus would have shaken his head with reproof if the situation were not so urgent.

He recognises that face from his childhood, the cocky arrogance and self assuredness that only the flick of a wand and a worthy opponent can bring on in full force, but there's an edge to it now that he's not seen before as Sirius dodges one of Bellatrix's curses.

Sirius goads her, taunting her abilities, but there's still a trace of something else in his expression, something Remus is not used to seeing in his friends face. Even as Sirius laughs, there's an undercurrent of undeniable fear. 

It's with this revelation that Remus sees his friend hit with a jet of light, sees what made Sirius the man he was - his humour, his darkness, the overriding love for his friends, for Remus and for Harry - leave him forever, the spark in his eyes extinguished in a flash.

Remus feels his chest squeeze, an involuntary bid to draw air and gasp but it catches in his throat.

The shock is a blow to the both of them, Sirius' face is tinged with utter disbelief, the life already drained from him as he starts to tip back; Remus feels a weight drop into his stomach and plummet down to his toes, melding his feet to the floor. The chaos around him tumbles away and yet he cannot move an inch, even as his oldest friend, body as graceful as it has always been, falls beyond the veil, beyond this very world itself.

For the first time in his life, he sees Sirius without any bravado. He sees the emaciated face of a man who has spent too long in the presence of dementors, of reliving his worst nightmares in his head for twelve years and being unable to atone. Did he remember Lily and James, and feel guilt for making them switch secret keepers? Did he think of his family, how ashamed they were of their Gryffindor son, how they didn't want him? How did he bear it, that consuming darkness that never let up? Remus never thought to ask, not once did he ask Sirius about his time in Azkaban, and it's too much to stand.

**"SIRIUS! SIRIUS!"**

It's Harry, his anguished screams for his godfather, that jars Remus into action. He forces himself into a run, to Harry who is carving out a route toward the dais. Remus feels winded and numb even as he grabs Harry, just as he did with Sirius all those months ago during his fight with Severus.

Harry is hysterical, flailing against Remus, fiercely working to get to the dais. It's all Remus can do to keep his hold on Harry as he appeals to him to save Sirius. He wants nothing more than to be able to save him, he would do anything, he would give up everything.

**"...It's too late, Harry."**

Too late for either of them. Too late to do and say all of the things that he should have.

**"We can still reach him - "**

Harry will not believe that he is dead. There's a part of Remus that wants to pelt up to the dais with Harry, to tear back the ragged curtain and reach for Sirius, to feel his warm hand wrapping around his arm and emerge, as he always does, with the shrug of his shoulders and a jaunty smirk, to feel the clap of a bony hand on his back. He wishes he could delay the onset of the harrowing truth, of knowing that Sirius has gone and will never come back.

 **"...he's gone."** he can hear himself saying the words, a confirmation to himself as well as to Harry. His eyes fall back to the archway, to the veil, he can't tear himself away from it.

**"SIRIUS!"**

**"He can't come back, Harry,"** Remus tries to keep control of his voice. He tries to summon up that calming, pacifying tone he uses on Sirius. He can't quite manage it. **"He can't come back, because he's d-"**

**"HE - IS - NOT - DEAD!"**

Remus starts to haul Harry back towards his friend, towards Neville, anything to get away from that dais. At some point, Harry gives up the struggle and Remus can hardly endure it, this sagging, defeated boy, he would rather contend with his defiant refusal. He watches the grief flood into Harry's face like a dam bursting, the acceptance of the worst, and his grip on Harry's arm tightens.

 **"Here - "** Remus holds his wand above Neville's leg, stopping the spell that was making his legs dance. With effort, he turns away from the dais, and asks Neville where the others are. He must keep focused, for Harry's sake, he must help while he still can stand.

 _'Stay focused,'_ he tells himself, again and again. ' _Concentrate of Neville. On Harry.' ___

There's a bang from the dais and Remus looks back to see Kingsley Shacklebolt drop to the floor, Bellatrix running and deflecting Dumbledore's spell. His distraction costs him; Harry breaks free from his restraint, already running despite Remus' cry of a warning. He takes off up the stone steps.

**"SHE KILLED SIRIUS! SHE KILLED HIM - I'LL KILL HER!"**

He knows he should follow him. He knows he should be there, to watch over him and defend him against Bellatrix but Remus finds that all the strength he had been clinging to has simply drained away. He instructs Neville to find the others and gather them up, waiting for him to be out of sight before sinking down to the floor in a jumble of limbs. He will catch up in a moment, he will ensure their safety but for now, right now, he can't seem to do anything at all.

There are flashes of spells and commotion of running people around him and yet, even as Dumbledore hastens after Harry, Remus chances one last look at the archway. His face pinches at the mere sight of it and the strain of holding himself together finally gives way. He pushes into his eye sockets with his thumb and forefinger, savagely swiping at the prickle in his eyes, feeling wetness on his fingers. A solitary sob rips from his body, the sound of it as if from a child and in a way, it's as if he is - he feels lost, out of his depth, as if he has been unmoored. All he knows is the ragged sound of his constricted breathing roaring in his own ears.

How can he ever admit to himself that Sirius is truly gone? There can never be a true concession for the death, there will be no body to bury. Sirius has been snuffed out, all but erased. How can he possibly accept that Sirius will never be found stalking the rooms of Grimmauld Place again, scowling every which way, when there is nothing left to lament?

Remus grants himself this brief minute to mourn for his lost friend, his dearest friend, and oh, how he aches with the pain of his loss. He should have known that his leaving headquarters would equate with some unimaginable repercussion but he can never resent Sirius' decision to join the Order in saving Harry. How he would have loathed them all if he were made to stay behind and act as messenger to Dumbledore, how he would have abhorred the agonising wait at Grimmauld Place, with no one other than his house elf to keep him company. Remus is confident that Sirius would have come anyway, permission or not, which is just the way it should have been. Sirius' deep admiration for his godson would not have allowed him to stand by.

It would always have ended up with Sirius joining them at the Ministry, he is sure of it, and the thought is oddly comforting. There was nothing any of them could have done for it to have been otherwise.

Dragging himself to his feet and wiping his eyes dry, Remus turns from the veil for what he hopes will be forever. He makes to follow Neville's path, folding himself back into the fray once again, forgotten and undetected by all.

And so ends the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, its last name-bearer slipping away into somber anonymity; disowned and dishonoured by his family, and hunted and besmirched by the Ministry. Betrayed and feared and locked away for a crime he did not commit, his life has been disruptive and dissatisfying and yet, there is something good and pure which punctuated even Sirius' blackest days.

We should not measure ourselves through the eyes of our naysayers or the opinions of strangers, but rather by those who know and love us best. The worth of Sirius Black was surely that of a remarkable weight, for a lone, bedraggled werewolf and the Boy Who Lived missed him very much indeed, and the keenness of his demise remained with them for a long time to come.

Before long, Order members show up at Remus' cottage in an attempt to talk to him but he repeatedly turns them away from his home, a polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes slipping ever further from his face. Tonks in particular proves exceptionally tricky to get rid of.

Every day for three weeks she turns up on his doorstep, come summer rain or shine. Eventually he gives in and allows her access but the visit doesn't last for long. Remus begins courteous, if a little cold, and tries to ignore the way Tonks is ignoring the state of his front room; this holds too many similarities to Sirius concealing his horror at Remus' living conditions, it's too much to bear to see the same expression on Tonks' face.

"Tea?" Remus murmurs, having only barely hovered in his armchair before jumping to his feet again.

Tonks is in the chair Remus had magicked specifically for Sirius but she keeps shifting her weight and squirms in the seat; she seems to have guessed the significance of the only other chair in the room. 

"That sounds wonderful, Remus, but I want to know if you're - "

"I'll just get the teapot." Remus interrupts, hurrying to the kitchen before she can speak another word.

He busies himself by frantically washing a cup by hand, slightly ashamed of the growing pile of dirty dishes in his sink. Every morning he has woken up with the decision to clean them but when the time finally comes, he can't do it. He can't do anything, not even to will himself to magic away the spare chair in his sitting room. Remus realises it is too quick, too easy, to get rid of all his connections to Sirius. He doesn't like the thought at all.

"Need any help?" 

He turns to look at Tonks watching him from the doorway, her fingers twisting and wringing together. Today, her hair is duller than her usual array of fantastic colours, instead hanging limp around her face. Remus decides she is much too pale, too grey looking lately.

"No, thank you."

"Really? None at all?" Tonks demands, crossing her arms across her chest. "You've been locked away in here for weeks now. This can't go on, Remus. You - you have to _want_ to talk about him, don't you? He was your friend, think of what Sirius - "

The tea cup that was in Remus' hand seconds earlier smashes into shards on the floor, he hadn't even realised he'd let go. 

"DON'T." Remus roars, gripping the edge of the sink. He watches as his knuckles turn white, he tries to conceal the trembling in his hands and arms but he knows he isn't doing a good job of it. "You meddling - you, you pernicious - "

He almost misses it, the bleat from Tonks. Almost misses the whispered apology that would sooner blow away on the wind if the kitchen wasn't loud with silence. Immediately, Remus is overcome with regret, with guilt for snapping at someone who genuinely cares. He has forgotten who he is, with no clue how to get back to that person. He's lost all sense of himself.

Without looking away from the murky water below his face, he is thankful to hear that his voice is soft and low in his own ears, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Tonks, but I can't do this. I must ask you to leave immediately."

"Remus, I didn't mean to - "

"I can't - I can't talk about - you can't ask that of me, I - " Remus breathes heavily through his nose and squeezes his eyes shut, mouth pressed into a hard, grim, wavering line. "Just leave me alone."

"Don't do this, Remus."

"Please. Just go."

He doesn't know when she leaves, he doesn't hear a sound, but when he opens his eyes again his doorway is empty, not a trace of Tonks' visit left beside the broken tea cup at his feet.

When the lengthy coverage of the battle at the Ministry has finally disappeared from the front page of the Daily Prophet, the last true Marauder returns to 12 Grimmauld Place in a lapse of resolution, to wander the stale corridors and dusty rooms in a bid to connect with Sirius once more. 

He sits in an untidy bedroom, letters and photographs littered across the floor, on the unkempt bed of his fallen comrade, and yet he feels nothing - nothing that can tie him back to Sirius no matter how much he longs for it. He manages a smile at the Gryffindor banners plastered all over the walls - Sirius had been ever obstinate - but there's little else on offer to lighten Remus' heart. 

With a heavy sigh, he creeps past the portrait of Sirius' mother, profoundly remembering the countless ineffective attempts to remove it, and past a closed door where he can hear the disembodied murmurings of the house elf, Kreacher, drifting out from beneath the gap.

Little does he know, as he quietly slips through the front door and snaps it shut behind him, that this will not be his last visit to Grimmauld Place. He will return again to offer his help to a trio of friends in their task to vanquish the Dark Lord, to be turned away with heated words of admonishment and shamed back to his family. 

He will not see them, the bright girl and her head of bushy curls, nor the gangly boy with the vivid red hair, or even the boy with his mother's eyes and his father's face and the famous scar, for quite some time after.

For now though, Remus Lupin retreats from the house and towards his uncertain future without a backward glance as 12 Grimmauld Place squeezes itself into obscurity between its muggle neighbours, dormant until its imminent duty next calls.


End file.
